


Witching Hour

by helo572



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 03, Background Relationships, Blind Character, Blindness, Canon Rewrite, Character Death, Dreams and Nightmares, Elaborate Murder Plots, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e21 Twilight of the Apprentice Part 1, Episode: s02e21-22 Twilight of the Apprentice, Episode: s02e22 Twilight of the Apprentice Part 2, F/M, Fights, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Visions, Guilt, Hacking, Injury, Jedi Training, Lack of Communication, Lightsabers, Meditation, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Minor Injuries, Nightmares, Non-Canonical Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Partial Mind Control, Post-Season/Series 02, Prophetic Visions, References to Canon, Resurrection, Revenge, Rewrite, Self-Doubt, Sith Holocron, Survivor Guilt, The Dark Side of the Force, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6436585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helo572/pseuds/helo572
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Malachor brings challenges for each member of the Ghost crew, but most notably, Ezra's constant struggle with the dark side after what it did to his master - Kanan Jarrus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for Rebels, yay!
> 
> I'm going to start off by saying the finale both absolutely killed me and endlessly inspired me. This is a result of both occurrences, more the latter. It was killing me to write a post-finale with all of my hopes, dreams and theories. Alas, lots of plotting and planning became this thing. I'm going to see how I go. I might finish, I might not, but regardless I thank you for taking a look and supporting me!
> 
> Please note this is going to be darker than the usual tone of Rebels.

Kanan's sure that without Hera's arms around him, he would be a heap on the landing platform by now. He's grateful she doesn't let go, and that Ezra doesn't release his hand, not until she says softly, “Kanan, there's a... medical droid here for you. Zeb's going to walk you, okay?” Her voice is detached, like it's a dream. He's not sure exactly who for.

 

“Okay,” he croaks in return.

 

She lets him go, still stroking a thumb across his shoulder as Zeb snakes a hand around his back. He can't help himself; he shivers without her warmth pressed into his chest.

 

“Come on, big guy,” Zeb murmurs, slowly taking a step forward. Kanan's shaky legs barely oblige. The back of his mind supplies helpfully: _shock_ , _Kanan_ , _you're in shock_. “That's it, easy.” If he couldn't feel Zeb radiating in the Force next to him, he wouldn't believe it was his hands steadying him across the platform.

 

And, normally, he wouldn't have heard Hera say quietly to his apprentice, “Come with me, love. Come on.” And, he wouldn't have heard the silence from Ezra in reply, or his minuscule shuffle of movement, or felt the twinge of emotion in the Force as he suppresses tears again. Hera repeats, “Please, Ezra.” and Kanan's legs give out from under him.

 

Zeb catches him, steadies him, and murmurs something reassuring, but Kanan doesn't hear it; he hears Ezra's footsteps on the platform as he walks away, instead.

 

By the time they reach the medical wing, Zeb is practically carrying Kanan across the threshold to somewhere he can sit down.

 

“Kanan, c'mon, you know my superior build is better spent than lofting you humans about,” the Lasat remarks, hauling him up onto what Kanan assumes is the edge of a bed. His bum catches on the lip, so he slides awkwardly, half-off, half-on. Zeb groans, “Give me a hand here.”

 

“I will render you some assistance, Mr Orrelios,” a mechanical voice chimes far more happily than Kanan is willing to entertain, and soon enough, he is swaying unsteadily, perched on the edge of a bed. “You can lie down if you wish, Mr Jarrus. We will examine you shortly.”

 

He hears Zeb rub his hand over the back of his head; it's a scratching sound, unsettling against his overtime senses.

 

“You can go, Zeb,” he answers the question he knows is on the tip of his friend's tongue. “I'll be fine. I... I want you to keep an eye on Ezra. Hera can't handle that kid all by herself.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Gotcha,” he returns, a little unsteadily.

 

“Zeb?” Kanan stops him before he turns to leave, making sure he adds, “Thanks.”

 

“No,” is the reply, which makes Kanan wish he could see the look on his friend's face currently. “Thank _you_ for coming back.” The way he says it; it's so affirming and firm, like when he was leading Chava and Grom through the star cluster towards Lira San. “I think I'd go mad if Sabine only had me to use as painting practice,” he finishes.

 

Kanan huffs a bit of a laugh, and so does Zeb.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, there's a fresh bandage across his face, and he's sitting on another bed wondering when he can catch a few hours sleep.

 

“There's nothing we can do to save your eyes,” the non-droid medical officer tells him, still sounding like a robot, “but we are able to minimise your scarring.” Kanan swallows, and off-handedly wonders if he can still cry. “Mr Jarrus?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” he responds, his voice cracking. “Whatever you can do. Thanks.”

 

With his heightened senses, he hears the woman exhale slowly out of her nose, and knows her lips are pressed together into a small, sad smile. “Will you require any... _other_ assistance?” she asks.

 

There, he allows himself to crack a bit of a grin. “That's what I've got the Force for, right? To be my seeing-eye droid?” His lips quiver. “Just patch me up, doc.”

 

* * *

 

He heads straight back to the Ghost, finding Hera exactly where he expected her- head buried under the main console.

 

“Kanan!” she says immediately. “You should have commed!” She's out from under the controls in a dash, at his side, holding his arm. She sits him down. “What if you'd fallen over–”

 

“Jedi,” he reminds her. “Where's Ezra?” he continues before she can continue fussing. Not because he doesn't appreciate her care, but because he doesn't want to talk about it, not yet.

 

“He went for a walk,” Hera answers. That made the breath in Kanan's throat catch a little, but he finds himself nodding in understanding anyway.

 

“And you?”

 

Hera seems surprised. “Me?”

 

“Yeah. You had to deal with him. I'm sorry, I tried, on the flight back but we had to...” He gestures himself up-and-down. “Yeah.”

 

“I'm fine,” she replies, and then leans a little closer; he hears her shift in her chair. “Are you...?" There's a beat of pause, almost like hesitation. "You weren't gone long.”

 

He shrugs, and then blurts out, “Hera, I... I want to touch your face. Please.” Later, he'll blame it on the pain drugs he doesn't remember taking.

 

“Sorry?” She doesn't even falter.

 

“I don't... don't know what it feels like like this.”

 

She doesn't answer for a moment as something sad radiates through the Force, but then she says quietly, “Yes, yes, Kanan. Of course you can.”

 

He reaches up to touch her face, gently, and it's exactly the same texture as the last time he touched it. But, this time, he makes sure to check where all of the curves go, where all of the dimples and lumps and bumps are, to see if he can match it to the picture currently in his mind.

 

It's a perfect copy, of course. The only thing that's changed is that her face usually isn't wet.

 

“Hera... are you... crying?” He brushes his thumb over her cheek, wiping away some of the moisture, and she also wipes at her face, pulling it from beneath his fingers.

 

“Sorry,” she apologies. “It's just...” Her voice breaks. “You're...”

 

“Hera...”

 

“I'm sorry, Kanan. I'm so sorry.” She reaches up to touch his face this time, and he meets her hand with his. Then, he draws her in for a hug, and makes sure he holds onto her tight.

 

* * *

 

The wind tugs at Ezra's hair as he walks back across the landing platform, towards the Ghost. It hasn't moved since from before they left, with the exception of the Phantom, which has been rightfully parked again.

 

Chopper greets him as he walks up the ramp, kindly, and Ezra acknowledges him with a ghost of a smile, but not much else.

 

Sabine is in the hallway as he passes the common room, fixing a panel. She lifts up her headgear to say hello, but he quiets her with an acknowledging wave, and then ducks into his room and locks the door behind him.

 

He takes out the holocron from his pocket.

 

Before, he took it up to the hill a few clicks from the main base, spiders be damned, and wondered what would happen if he threw it into the clouds and off into oblivion, never to be seen again. It wouldn't undo what had happened, but it might make him feel better, like throwing a weight off his shoulders into the deepest reaches of space.

 

Except, this one, he decided to keep close to him.

 

Up there, he came to conclusion that his friends fought and died for this little box, and it'd be like throwing away their sacrifices; ignoring them, which is something Ezra can't do. Especially a sacrifice as big as Kanan's, that still makes his heart heavy when he thinks about it.

 

He needs to know _why_.

 

Why did Maul betray him?

 

Why was Kanan blind?

 

Why was Ahsoka _dead?_

 

The box quivers between his fingers, so he sets it down on the floor, kneeling in front of it. He reaches out in the Force, feeling all of his friends across the base, all of them grieving in their own private ways, and also the little box, which reeks of the dark side. He is drawn to it again, like he was in the Temple; like Maul said he would be.

 

Ezra barely suppresses a shiver as he nudges it with his mind, and nearly falls over when it nudges him back. It's _cold_. Like ice coursing through his veins, freezing his thoughts and his breath, like there's nothing there to begin with.

 

 _Maybe_ , he thinks to himself, as the ice spreads across him, _it's empty, and all of this was for nothing._

 

Something clicks.

 

He pries open an eye, and the box is hovering in front of his face, spinning in the air. He swallows, takes a deep breath, closes his eye again, and concentrates.

 

People have sacrificed so much for what was in this box. He wasn't letting fear stop him from sleeping at night, plagued by nightmares of darkness and fire; of Kanan and Ahsoka.

 

When he opens his eyes again, the holocron is open, and Ezra's never felt warmer in his life.

 

* * *

 

Maul parks the TIE fighter on a ridge overlooking the steaming bog, and clambers into the little shack that's been abandoned for decades, since before Malachor, or perhaps even since he became Maul. He can't remember anymore. All he remembers is what he's become, and that's nothing.

 

Humming an ancient Dathomirian lullaby, he closes the door, which crumbles slightly at the edges, but his breath is stolen from him when he turns around. The jar is still sitting there, exactly where he left it.

 

He stares for a while, then simply starts laughing.

 

“Oh, brother,” he laments to it, “we're finally going to have what we've always wanted.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!! I'm honestly so flabbergasted at all of the positive responses for this. Thank you so much! I'm hoping I can deliver for you.

Nothing.

 

It's been a week and there has been absolutely nothing. Ezra allowed himself to hope up until now, that perhaps Ahsoka bested Vader and would signal them for extraction, but the comms have been silent.

 

Endless scenarios run through his head about what happened at the top of that Temple; they plague his dreams as nightmares, and his waking moments as flashes of angry thoughts.

 

In some, Vader strikes Ahsoka down in an opening, leaving a deep orange-gash across her chest. In others, she is impaled, or beheaded, or choked.

 

In the worst ones, she lives, but to Vader's expense.

 

Except, they've heard nothing from Imperial forces about Vader, either. While Ezra's hope for Ahsoka dwindles, his hope that they'd eliminated or at most injured one of the most feared beings in the galaxy made it all a little more bearable.

 

“Go for a walk, kid,” Sabine remarks in passing through the communications room, carrying something mechanical and important-looking. “You've been cooped up in here all day.” She ruffles his hair with her spare hand. Smiling a little, he bats her off, and follows her through the base.

 

“Can I help?” he asks.

 

“You? With this?” Sabine keeps walking, briskly. Ezra tries to keep up. “Dream on.”

 

“Oh, come on, Sabine! You know I'm good with things like that.”

 

She stops at a door, pressing the release with her hand, balancing the machinery against her chest. Ezra ducks in after her, just as the door closes.

 

“I heard Kanan's up on the hill, maybe you two could do some Jedi r-and-r,” Sabine says, peering around the corner of her pile of machinery as she sets it down. “Plus, this is all _boring_ base stuff. It's a few cooling units.”

 

“You've all been doing boring base stuff _all_ week,” Ezra moans. “No flying, no missions, no nothing! It's been weeks since we found this place and you're _still_ not done!”

 

“Yeah, well, believe it or not, this is a mission,” Sabine replies. She's digging around her belt for something. “Assigned directly from Sato himself. 'Sabine', he says, 'this is of utmost importance. If I don't get more cooling units in the food store, my gourmet dinner is going to go rotten'.”

 

Ezra heaves a heavy sigh. “Fine, I get it. You don't need me to save Sato's dining habits,” he answers.

 

Sabine smiles a little as she finds the tool she's looking for, attaching it to a piece of machinery perched on the table.

 

“I'll just be going, then,” he announces over his shoulder, heading slowly towards the door. “Jedi r-and-r, super important. _Way_ more important than Sabine Wren's important mission.”  
  


“See ya, Ezra,” she shoots after him.

 

He pushes the release on the door, and ends up on the hill.

 

It's the one closest to the base. A short walk from the landing platform, up where Zeb first made up camp; it's got a good view of the reaches of the planet, and it's good for some fresh air away from the base. Kanan's using it for a complicated-looking kata when Ezra finds him.

 

The Force is engulfing the hill. It envelopes Ezra, too, and he breaths it in, welcoming it. It also helps Kanan: guiding his precise movements, helping him place his steps, and keep his balance as he moves gracefully through the kata.

 

Ezra hasn't actually trained with him since Malachor. He's not sure if it's because he's been camped in the comms room all this week, up on his own hill attempting to meditate, or simply trying to avoid his thoughts.

 

Either way, it seems Kanan is doing fine without him.

 

Each move is elegant and controlled, landing against invisible blades and through transparent enemies. His lightsaber is held in relaxed fingers; nothing but an extension of his body. Ezra is mesmerised yet again with his Master, that despite everything, he's still a shining example of a Jedi.

 

Cool, calm, collected and strong. And blind.

 

It hadn't occurred to him at the time, on the top of the temple, but he'd felt Maul's blade across Kanan's face through their bond. At the time he easily dismissed it as the holocron, but the more he meditated this week, and thought, he realised it was a tingle of pain, not ice.

 

“ _Kriff_ ,” Kanan suddenly swears, dragging Ezra from his thoughts with a shudder.

 

He looks up, and Ezra's master is on the ground, in the process of picking himself back up. He'd fallen over.

 

By the time Ezra is close, he's already back his feet on, trading his lightsaber between both hands, breathing deeply. Then, sensing him in the Force, he stops, straightens, and turns to face him. “Hey,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. Ezra swallows. “Haven't seen you all week. Where you been hiding? Not the armoury again, I hope, those droids are going to have my head if they find you at their spare parts store again.”

 

His tone is light, like the smile on his face, and Ezra can't bring himself to quip anything in response. “I'll train with you,” he says instead.

 

“You want to spar?” Kanan seems surprised.

 

Of course, Ezra's lightsaber had been destroyed on Malachor, but his (illegal) diving through the junk piles had found him a replacement, strangely enough. It was the only thing he'd properly talked to Kanan about since returning from their mission.

 

Kanan told him it was a shoto, a lightdagger, usually used as a secondary, off-hand weapon or by shorter species who couldn't wield a lightsaber, like Master Yoda.

 

Ezra told him it was yellow.

 

“I'll go easy,” Ezra replies.

 

Kanan's mouth quirks up in amusement. “I'm sure I'll be fine.”

 

He ignites his lightsaber, slips into stance, and Ezra strikes. The Force embraces him again, as it does Kanan. Despite, Kanan quickly slips into defence, blocking all of Ezra's strikes on firm feet. It's impossible to find an opening.

 

They tag back and forth for a long while, evenly matched in offence and defence, dancing across the sparse area of the hill. Ezra's not sure if their stalemate is because he's glad to finally have an outlet, and is pushing himself, or it's because Kanan is at a handicap.

 

It is impossible to hold back when your head is swimming with emotions. That's why he leaps off a rock formation, descending on Kanan from above with his blade raised and something bubbling in his chest.

 

He waits that split second for Kanan to raise his blue blade to meet his, but it never comes. So, Ezra lands, hovering the yellow blade inches from his neck.

 

“Got you,” he announces, still on a high. However, Kanan doesn't move, and Ezra comes down quite quickly after that. “Kanan?” he asks carefully; hesitantly. Did he hurt him? Surprise him? _Scare_ him?

 

“Sorry.” Kanan snaps out of it. He's working at his jaw, eyebrows furrowed, his head turned towards Ezra. He's obviously in thought. “Must have slipped. A bit overbalanced on that last one, I think.” He kicks at the ground, adding, “Lots of loose rocks up here, it's easy to lose your footing.”

 

It's an excuse if Ezra's ever heard one.

 

Kanan adds, humour hanging off his words, “Plus, you said you go easy!”

 

“You said not to!” Ezra returns, defensively.

 

“Well, I was joking!” Kanan replies, punctuating his point with a gesture, but his voice is light; teasing. Ezra still swallows. “I can do that; joke! Being a Jedi isn't _all_ about being serious, you know.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Ezra blurts in reply.

 

Kanan's features immediately settle into a frown. All traces of his teasing before are just another memory for Ezra to file away. “For what?” he inquires.

 

“I... I got lost,” Ezra explains, still not quite sure himself, “in the flurry of it. I shouldn't have jumped on you.” _I shouldn't have used your blindness to my advantage_ , he adds, internally, but can't bring himself to say it. He knows what Kanan's reaction will be: to brush it off, like it's nothing. But it's not. It's _everything_. “I know it's still... different for you,” he says instead, fumbling for words as Kanan's frown deepens, “I wasn't going to train with you, not until you asked me, but... but I'm your _padawan_. I'm _supposed_ to be training with you. Helping you–”

 

“Hang on, hang on,” Kanan stops him, hand raised. “Ezra, you're fine. I'm fine. We both are.” He makes a point of pulling apart his lightsaber and securing it back to his belt, and Ezra makes a point to ignore how he misses the clip the first time. “I gave you some space, I knew you'd need it. I think we all did. But you didn't have to spend it worrying about me.”

 

And there it is. Brushing it off.

 

Ezra's throat catches on all the words he wants to say. Instead, he just shakes his head, and realises half a beat later that Kanan can't see.

 

“I just don't know,” he replies.

 

Kanan smiles sadly. “I'm not asking you to know,” he replies. “Just... take care of yourself, kid. I know it's been hard, but we're all here for each other.”

 

Though Kanan might have been aiming to be reassuring, his words encourage the turmoil in Ezra's head, making his emotions race. He doesn't _need_ reassurances. They don't help him. He needs to fix it.

 

Fix Kanan.

 

Fix Ahsoka.

 

Fix the Empire and their kriffing Inquisitors.

 

Not take care of himself. How does that stop the Empire? How does it avenge _everything_ he'd lost this week?

 

“Yeah,” Ezra answers, vaguely, not wanting to leave Kanan hanging. It wasn't his fault. “I'm sorry, Kanan,” he apologises again. “I'm just going to... go. Sabine said I could help her.”

 

“Oh.” Kanan instantly deflates, and it breaks Ezra's heart, but he's not sure how else to deal with this, aside from slicing things into little, lightsaber sized pieces. But that's not how a Jedi deals with their emotions. They meditate. They overcome. They persevere. “Okay. You know where to find me.”

 

Ezra swallows down the lump in throat, turns, and walks away. The Force retreats from the hill, and is replaced by the wind.

 

* * *

 

Sabine isn't in the food storage when Ezra goes looking, which is fine, so he ends up on his own hill instead, a fifteen minute walk from the base.

 

He tries to meditate, but his thoughts are dwelling on his and Kanan's duel before. The look on Kanan's face as Ezra pounced on him had been one of pure terror, he's sure of it.

 

So, the first time he tries to connect with Kanan after what's happened, he kriffs it up. It's as good a sign as any something's changed.

 

Maybe Kanan's blaming him for his blindness.

 

It is Ezra's fault, after all. It had been him who had had the vision of Master Yoda, who sent the three of them to Malachor, leaving only him coming back in one piece.

 

It's _unfair_.

 

“Why did you send me there?” he finds himself asking under his breath, his voice pained, for any answer the Force can give. “ _Why_ did you send me there if you _knew_ this would happen?”

 

There's no answer. Even the wind falls silent.

 

“How am I supposed to fight the Empire without... without my Master?” he asks. “You sent me there to fight it, fight Vader, but now... it's just...” He trails off, looking at his hands collected in his lap.

 

The silence continues.

 

“The dark side,” he continues, his thoughts picking up speed. “Is that why you sent me to Malachor? To test me?” He looks up, hoping for MasterYoda, or any Jedi, or _something_ , but it's just the expanse of the clouds, hugging the planet like a blanket. “Because I'm _better_ than that, I'm a Jedi. I'm _not_ a Sith. I just want to fight them. I want to protect my friends.”

 

Nothing.

 

Ezra squeezes his eyes shut. “ _Please_.”

 

Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls across the plain, echoing around the hill. All it does is emphasise the silence.

 

“Answer me,” he says. “Anyone, _please_. Answer me. I... I don't know what to do. The holocron... it's not even useful, it's just Sith teachings, not knowledge, or a weapon. I can't use that. I _need_ something to fight with.”

 

Beat.

 

Nothing.

 

“Answer me!” he cries, suddenly on his feet. “My Master is _blind_ , my friend is _dead_ because of you! All because of a kriffing holocron! I can't even use it, I _can't_ , I'm a Jedi, not a Sith! I won't use the dark side, I won't!”

 

His words echo across the hill like the bird call, drowning out everything else, apart from the emotions drowning Ezra from the inside out. It's like before, when he fought Kanan; he's lost in it. The only difference: he hadn't been crying last time.

 

“All I wanted to do was protect my friends! Destroy the Empire! Save the galaxy! You tell me to fight, but people die. People always _die._ I lost my _parents._ My _life._ What good is fighting then, if I'm failing the very people I'm trying to protect?!”

 

Yoda doesn't answer. The Force doesn't answer.

 

Ezra curls into a ball and sobs.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sato finally assigns them a mission towards the end of rotation that day. The debrief calms Ezra's thoughts a little. It's something else to think about.

 

It's only a small, shakedown run to a nearby Imperial outpost, but it's still a mission all the same. It's a reason to get off this blasted rock. It's a reason to focus on where he's putting his feet, rather than where his feet have been.

 

Ezra's on the Ghost first thing that morning. Sabine arrives next, and then Zeb, who whoops, “Finally!” He takes an appreciative look around the cockpit. “If I had to do one more heaving lifting job, I'd give them a heavy plaster cast to go with their lazy arses.”

 

“We _did_ finish building work on the control room two days ahead of schedule,” Sabine points out. She's brushing down one of her pistols with a cloth, sitting in the co-pilot's seat.

 

They shoot back and forth, but Ezra's only half listening. He sees Hera and Chopper enter the room, the former shaking her head as she takes the pilot's seat, smiling to herself. Probably at Zeb and Sabine's banter, or perhaps at the notion they're finally _leaving_ and doing something rebellious.

 

They're still complaining about lounging around the base when Chopper makes an input, which Hera translates and Ezra actually listens, “Chop says you all don't have to worry about power cells going to waste.”

 

“It's called sleep, ya bucket of bolts,” Zeb points out. He takes a seat next to Chopper, patting him on his dome, grinning. “Which we all got plenty of during this week off. But karabast was it _boring_.”

 

He continues on with Sabine again. Ezra takes a deep breath, watching as Hera flips switches and checks dials, preparing the Ghost for takeoff.

 

“Ezra?” she then asks softly. He realises when he looks down to meet her gaze, that he's standing right next to her chair, having been staring out the front window. “You look like you could use another few hours sleep.”

 

Rubbing the back of his head, smiling disarmingly, he answers, “I'm fine. Just glad to get a change in scenery, y'know?”

 

“I hear you,” Hera agrees, turning back to her work, just as the cockpit door slides open and Kanan enters.

 

Ezra doesn't need to turn around to know it's him, because not only does he sense his mentor's presence, but Zeb and Sabine's playful banter comes to a halt.

 

“Don't sound so glum,” Kanan remarks to fill the silence. “Even if it's just a few crates, we're still sticking it to the Empire.”

 

“Any ammunition they're not shooting at us is good ammunition,” Zeb agrees.

 

Chopper makes a sound any person could translate as agreement. Hera gives a bit of a chuckle at the chorus of enthusiasm from the little droid.

 

“All ready to go?” she then asks, but everybody just looks at Kanan, Ezra included. He doesn't look any different, besides the obvious. He just looks like Kanan, ready for a mission, ready to fight the good fight.

 

“Let's go steal some shit,” Kanan says.

 

With Hera grinning, the Ghost lifts off, and Ezra watches as Chopper Base slowly disappears into the clouds as Hera takes them into the sky and beyond.

 

* * *

 

They touch down on the moon less than a hour later. The stormtrooper patrols are quick to recognise when they're being robbed.

 

Ezra deposits his first two crates in the cargo hold into the waiting hands of Kanan, who is securing them safely. Zeb and Hera are already running another two up the boarding ramp, with Sabine returning fire.

 

“Let's wrap it up, people!” Hera exclaims in passing. “Reinforcements are on their way!”

 

There's still another two close boxes, sitting in the edge of a transport trolley. One of them is teetering on the edge, dodging all of the blaster bolts as if it could see.

 

“I got these two!” he announces, and then ducks off into a run, but someone grabs his arm before he can leap onto the platform. Ezra doesn't need to turn around to know it's Kanan.

 

“Ezra, no _,_ ” he admonishes. Hera's already retreating up the ladder towards the cockpit, despite Chopper at the helm. “We've got enough. Plus, you heard Hera, it's about to get crazy out there.”

 

“I can do this, Kanan,” Ezra pulls away from him, and as if on cue, the reinforcements reach the platform, and the blaster fire turns into a hail.

 

Unfazed, he ducks outside in a run, passing Sabine, who is retreating back inside the Ghost.

 

“Ezra!” she yells after him.

 

The two crates aren't far away, but are in the closing gap between the Ghost and the blockade of stormtroopers. It's a lot for a small outpost, which Ezra could ponder over later.

 

He's about to skid behind the trolley for cover when it catches a stray blaster bolt and explodes, the ammunition crates with it.

 

Ezra is thrown backwards. He's weightless for a few moments, with blaster bolts still flashing around him, and he catches sight of the Ghost in his tumble.

 

Then, he hits the platform again with a thud, the shock reverberating through his hip and elbow as he lands. It's a sharp, hot pain that fades into a dull, persistent throbbing as he raises his head to regain his bearings.

 

From the compound, the stormtroopers are advancing, closing the gap between them and the Ghost.

 

Someone quickly helps him up and drags him back towards the Ghost. The ringing in his ears makes it impossible to make out what they're saying.

 

Only when the Ghost's ramp shuts with a _hiss_ does Ezra register it's _Kanan_ talking, _Kanan's_ hand grasping at his shirt, and therefore _Kanan_ who went to grab him–blind, recovering, supposed-to-secure-the-crates-in-the-hold Kanan.

 

“That was reckless,” he's lecturing Ezra, but still holding onto him, as if he's afraid Ezra will disintegrate under his fingertips. “We were ready to go, Ezra. I told you and you didn't listen. You disobeyed an order, but more importantly, you put your life at risk.”

 

“I'm fine,” Ezra brushes him off, and Kanan lets go of his shirt, but his face is still stern.

 

Kanan contiues, “It was just a pick up. We didn't need it all, just if we could. You know that, it's routine. And you know that if there's _any_ time for heroics, it's _not_ there.”

 

“I _said_ ,” Ezra gets to his feet, wobbling, and Kanan steadies him. His hand is awkwardly placed again on Ezra's sore hip. “I'm _fine._ ”

 

It's bothering him because he could have grabbed that crate. He could have finished their mission as Sato asked. He could have saved the last one, because he had a _chance._ He's just too stupid and slow to take it. And Kanan's lecturing him for it.

 

“Ezra–” Kanan starts, gently this time.

 

“Save the lecture, Kanan!” he throws back. “It's the same one every time! Don't be reckless, don't be stupid, don't do this, don't do that. It's just _rules_ , now, ever since we started with Sato and I hate it! I want to be back on Lothal!”

 

He uses Kanan's shocked pause to make for the closest door, away from the cargo bay, away from Kanan, _anywhere_. In his rush, he doesn't see Hera on the overlooking balcony, looking equally as shocked as Kanan.

 

Ezra ends up back in his room with the holocron in his hands, wondering if it was all worth it.

 

* * *

 

For once, the Ghost is quiet.

 

With their cargo needing delivery and processing, the crew had gone to attend to it, leaving Chopper to recalibrate the ship's computers, and Kanan to meditate. He would have done it on the hill, but here in his room, he's surrounded by the aura of his friends, and it's a lot more soothing than the stillness and isolation on the hill.

 

Ever since Malachor, it's been harder to be alone. It's a shame he can't practice with his lightsaber on the Ghost, too.

 

Someone knocks on the door.

 

“It's open,” he calls.

 

The door slides open, and Hera asks softly, “Can I come in?”

 

Kanan's mind is open to the Force at this moment, deeply immersed like he's underwater, so that he feels every ounce of Hera's concern, wonder and affection for him as she speaks. Her words are littered with it.

 

He releases his hold on the Force and returns slowly back to the normal world, his thoughts quickly beginning to jumble again. “Yeah.” He remembers he's supposed to answer her. “Shut the door, please,” he adds in afterthought.

 

Hera shuts the door, and comes to sit opposite him, on the floor. He imagines the way her lekku moves when she walks, and how she's looking at him right now.

 

“Everything okay?” he prompts when she says nothing. “Or didn't Sato didn't like our presents?”

 

“Sato's wondering how you went,” she corrects.

 

He gives a bit of a chuckle. “What, in the cargo hold, where he assigned me? I think I secured those crates wonderfully. Processing droids would be proud.”  
  


 

She sighs. So does Kanan.

 

“The mission today was fine,” he answers properly, “but Sato's assignment of me was stupid. You can tell him that.” Hera gives an amused snort, and Kanan adds, “I can handle myself, I don't need people deciding what's best for me.”

 

“You mean the mission, or the grounding?” Hera asks to clarify.

 

He shrugs. “Both, I guess. The base arrest this week was for my benefit. I get it, you're all worried about me, but I'm fine. I did some training, some repairs around the base, lent a hand, just got used to it. It did more for me than, well... talking about it would. And it didn't take long either, not with the Force.”

 

“That's good,” Hera replies, and sounds like she means it. “Nobody wanted you pushing yourself, that was all. It wasn't a rush to get back into field work.”

 

“From the sounds of the Ghost this morning, everybody needed it,” Kanan returns. “Ezra especially.”

 

He hears Hera shift, but she doesn't get to her feet. “Did you talk to him about today?” she asks.

 

Kanan shakes his head, pressing his lips into a line. “Didn't get a chance. You saw him with those crates, the kid was going to get himself killed over a few rounds. Then he stormed off.”

 

“That's just it, though,” Hera says, “he's just a _kid_ , Kanan. He's having trouble processing what happened.” A gentle smile creeps into her voice. “He needs you.”

 

“What am I supposed to say to him?” Before Hera can offer an answer, to which Kanan doubts she has one anyway, he continues, “The dark side... it's... _strong_ in him, Hera. I felt it yesterday, too, when we trained.”

 

And he goes on, about Ezra's emotions, his spirit and his passion, his power and his determination, and about the dark side and the light.

 

“I think,” Hera says once he's finished, his head hung and his thoughts racing, “you need to tell him all that. He needs to know that you care about him.”

 

“He's stupid if he thinks any of us don't,” Kanan replies.

 

“Sometimes, love, it's always good to have a reminder.” She sends a hand on his knee and gives it a squeeze, and he finds himself smiling a little. That's also when something in his chest lurches and the expression is once again foreign to his face.

 

“Oh _Force_ ,” he swears. “He's blaming himself, isn't he? For...” He gestures vaguely to himself. “ _this_. It's why he won't talk to me. It's why he stormed off before; why he wanted to get those crates so badly.” He gets to his feet. “I need to talk to him.”

 

Hera gets up, too. “Kanan–” she starts, but her comm-link goes off, and Kanan recognises it as Sato's signal. Something's probably happened. “Sorry,” she apologises to him, and then answers, “Syndulla here.”

 

“Captain Syndulla, you're going to want to see this,” Sato's voice crackles over the comm.

 

Kanan looks her way, and he's sure she looks back, as they both start off towards the command centre together in a brisk walk.

 

Zeb and Sabine are already there, and something despairing radiates through the Force, just as Sato says, “We started receiving reports a few minutes ago. Intelligence reports Vader returned to Coruscant. And this, sent to us and other rebel cells on our older frequencies.”

 

There's silence for a few moments, then Hera gasps from beside him. He doesn't understand why until an awful, evil voice begins talking, “ _I hope I am addressing the leader of this rebel insurgency when I say: this is your last warning. I know of your Jedi, of your fleets and your planets. I have entertained you for long enough, but after a direct attack on my apprentice... a poignant threat to my Empire, you cannot expect a man such as I to stand idly by and continue this game. No, rebels, I shall destroy you, starting with you, Caleb Dume. And you will never see me coming._ ”

 

* * *

 

Ezra realises that being up on the hill is similar to when he would sometimes sit on the balcony of his tower, watching all of the ships fly in and out of the city. There, he'd allow his thoughts to drift away with the crafts, as they flew seamlessly through the air despite their impossible size.

 

He's not frustrated now. He's just tired.

 

His body aches too much to try anything with his borrowed lightsaber, so he just sits there, palms planted behind him in the dirt, watching the clouds.

 

He's not surprised when Kanan silently joins him, equally as tired. The sun is just beginning to go do down as the planet goes into its night cycle.

 

“You and I, we need to have a talk,” his Master eventually says, but he's not angry. There's no trace of anything in his words, his face or the Force besides love, and it breaks Ezra's heart into tiny little pieces.

 

“Is this about today?” Ezra asks.

 

“Kinda,” Kanan replies. “Kinda about... well, everything. Since Malachor. But now that you mention it...” Kanan leans closer. “You're not hurt, are you? You took a pretty hard fall.”

 

Ezra shrugs. “Nothing I can't handle.”

 

Kanan doesn't answer him. Not for a while, anyway. Ezra's not sure how many clouds pass the barren hill before Kanan finally answers, “You know, some Jedi could use the Force to heal. Even the most extreme injuries, physical and emotional, Jedi healers could weave the Force into your injuries.”

 

“Bacta works too,” Ezra points out. “But Jedi healing sounds cooler, I'll give you that.” Then, he changes his position, to hugging his knees instead. He looks over to his Master. “Kanan?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“I know, kid,” he replies. “Me too. I'm a pretty lousy Master, huh?”

 

Ezra finds himself smiling a little bit. “The best one I've ever had. Also the worst. Go figure.”

 

“You're hilarious,” Kanan deadpans. Then, he sighs a lengthy sigh, and Ezra swallows. “Kid, I mean it, I'm sorry. You needed me this week and I wasn't there. So... anything you need, Ezra, anything at all, you tell me. Anything you want to talk about, or want to ask about... just shoot. Because it's why I'm here. Even if I'm shit at it. A man's gotta try.”

 

There's a million different things Ezra _feels_ about Kanan Jarrus, alas, a million things he could say next. He could ask him if he blamed him for Malachor, if he thought he was weak, if he thought he was still a Jedi, if he doubted his alignment with the light, about Hera, about _anything_ –

 

“Vader's still alive, isn't he?”

 

Kanan freezes, then answers with his head hung, “... Yes.”

 

“So it was all for nothing.”

 

“ _No_ , Ezra, it wasn't,” Kanan insists. He turns to Ezra now, leaning closer still, and Ezra's expecting _something_ , but not for Kanan to wrap his arms around him, one hand cradling the back of his head. It's so intimate and un-Jedi like. So's crying, which Ezra's doing. _Again_. “It's okay,” Kanan says. “It's alright, Ezra, it's going to be okay. I promise.”

 

Ezra almost brings himself to believe him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Thank you so much, I'm so stoked you're all enjoying this :*)


	4. Chapter 4

That night, Ezra sleeps for his first full night cycle since Malachor.

 

Even if things are nowhere near okay, there's a sense of calm slowly settling over his previously raging thoughts, that perhaps, he and Kanan can work through this together. Things are just different now. They will be forever.

 

So, just when the base gurgles to life, with pilots leaving for their scouting missions, squadrons leaving for their skirmishes, and controllers directing ships left and right off the platform, Ezra climbs to the top of his hill again.

 

The wind tugs at his hair, but he pays it no mind, instead, focused on keeping his thoughts calm. Concentrating on that, and the Force.

 

Ezra wills it to flow through him, like a river winding through weathered rocks, and carefully caressing the sediments of the bank. It makes it easier to sort out what's going on in his mind. Everything seems clearer when the Force is with him.

 

He sits cross-legged on the centre of the hill, overlooking the valley, and lets his eyes fall closed.

 

“Master Yoda,” he says, inhaling, and then exhaling, expanding the Force across the furthest reaches of the valley in time with his breath. “Please, I want to talk to you.”

 

Silence.

  
“Master Yoda,” he tries again, and checks his thoughts are settled; nothing but a wisp of the amount of the Force that is flowing through him. “I'm seeking your counsel. Please.”

 

Again, nothing.

 

“I'm sorry.” Ezra swallows. “Last time... I-I was upset, frustrated. A Jedi shouldn't let himself be controlled by his emotions, and I was. I want to sort through them, and I'm asking for your advice. Please.”

 

“Hmm,” an ancient voice reverberates around the hill. Ezra opens his eyes, and rather than on Chopper Base, he's sitting in the midst of a damp, green-brown bog. He's perched, cross-legged, on an old tree stump, and opposite him, is Master Yoda, thumbing the top of a short gimmer stick. “Wish to examine your feelings, you do, young one?” he asks.

 

Ezra bows his head. “Yes, Master.”

 

“Then tell me what is troubling you, you must,” Yoda responds.

 

Now, _that_ is a good question, as presently, a lot of things are bothering Ezra Bridger. Predominantly, his emotional turmoil lies with Malachor, but also at what his emotions have led to: his outbursts to his friends, and the holocron.

 

“My master...” he starts slowly. “Kanan, he's...” It's hard, because he hasn't actually said it to himself all week, because, perhaps, keeping the word from his lips somehow will stop it from being true. “... blind.”

 

Yoda regards him for a few silent moments. “The journey to Malachor,” he then says, quite purposefully, “a difficult one it has been, for both you and your Master.”

 

“Yes,” Ezra answers, a lump quickly forming in his throat.

 

“Feel it is your fault, you do?” Ezra can seldom only nod in reply to the grand master. “And mine you feel, too, do you not?”

 

His gaze quickly flies back to Yoda's, who meets his eyes steadily. “No, I–” he is quick to respond, but his voice cracks, and Yoda stares him down, so he lets his chin fall to his chest again in defeat. “... Yes,” he replies, slowly. “You sent me there to fight but... but... now everything feels so hopeless and I don't know what to do. Every time I try to fix something, it just goes wrong, or I get angry and I... I...”

 

“Direct your feelings to the Force, you must,” Yoda schools, making it seem a hundred parsecs easier than it actually is, for Ezra to control his emotions. “Your peace and trust in the Force led you to me now, it did. And again, the Force will direct you, but trust in it first, you must.”

 

“I...” Ezra wants to object, because everything feels like it could fall apart again at any moment, like a paper castle beneath his feet. “... understand, Master.”

 

“Hmm,” Yoda says again. “Malachor, sent you there to fight, I did, and fought you have, fought well. With Vader and his Inquisitors, you fought, but also much more.”

 

That quickly nicks Ezra from his dwelling thoughts, his gaze meeting Yoda's. “The dark side?” he clarifies.

 

Yoda makes a noise of affirmation. His eyes bore into Ezra's as he speaks, “Stirs within you, it does. But trust in the Force, you must, to lead you down the path of the light.”

 

It almost feels like an accusation, and it stirs something unsettling in Ezra's chest all of a sudden.

 

“I'm not a Sith,” he returns, adamant. “I'm a Jedi.”

 

At that, Yoda looks slowly to the ground.

 

Ezra swallows down the sudden burst of emotion rising through him. He came to Yoda looking for answers, and so far, he has barely anything. It's frustrating, but Jedi don't get frustrated. They... trust in the Force.

 

“Emotion,” Yoda then says, “yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.” He pauses to meet Ezra's gaze again. “Know these words, do you, young one?”

 

“Should I?” It comes off _slightly_ more defensive than he intends.

 

“The mantra of the Jedi code,” Yoda supplies. “Bring you peace, it will. Guide your feelings, it should.”

 

“But... _how_ , Master?” he has to ask. “I trust the Force, I do, but I still don't know what to do. Kanan... I... I want to help him but I _can't_. I don't know how to.”

 

He thinks for a moment, that perhaps Yoda will advise him, but the grand master simply lowers his head again. “Soon,” he says, gently, “horrible trials you will face, padawan, but a Jedi, you must be.”

 

Ezra blinks, and he's sitting back on the hill again.

 

He sits in silence for a few moments, contemplating the grand master's words, but ends up gathering the Force around him and toppling the closest rock formation in his frustration.

 

Then, he sits back down, a hand threaded into his hair, and stares into the endless reaches of the valley.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day, he helps Sabine and Zeb with boring base stuff, and fits one too many lights for his own personal sanity.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I haven't see you all day, kid,” Kanan says, from Ezra's doorway. Startled, he nearly drops the lightsaber he's been fiddling with.

 

“I was with Sabine,” he replies. “And you seemed pretty busy with Hera... so...”

 

“Oh, yeah, that. A bit of mission planning. Sato's got a few ops for the next few weeks, he wanted my input.” There's a stretch of silence for a few moments, where Ezra looks down at the borrowed lightsaber in his hands, and then Kanan asks, “Can I come in?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Ezra's perched on his bunk, so he scoots over, making room for Kanan. Once he's close, the apprentice takes the Master's arm, guiding him to sit down next to him.

 

“Thanks,” Kanan replies. It sends a pang of... _something_ through Ezra's core that he doesn't like. “You looking at that lightsaber again?” he asks, probably just to fill the approaching silence.

 

“Yeah,” Ezra replies, a little surprised he knew. “Been trying to figure out where it came from.”

 

“Let me feel it again.”

 

Ezra deposits the weapon into Kanan's waiting palm. From there, his Master trades it between both his hands, weighing it, and then throws it into the air. It flips once, and he catches it.

 

“Yeah, still got nothing,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Typical lightsaber shoto, nothing unique about the design, really.” He offers it back to Ezra, who takes it, re-attaching it back to his belt. “We'll have to get you a new one,” he says.

 

“Aren't kyber crystals incredibly rare?” raises Ezra, regarding his Master with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Never stopped us before, has it?” Kanan grins a little, but sobers quickly. “When you're up for it, kid, we'll get you a new lightsaber. You can't keep using a borrowed one, it's supposed to be bad luck.”

 

“It's good enough for now,” Ezra returns. “Plus, I _found_ it. There was no one to borrow it from in the first place.”

 

“You knew what I meant,” Kanan accuses, grinning a little again. Like before, it fades quickly, and he turns to look at Ezra. “I actually came to ask about... uh, well, training. I think we need a rematch after last week.”

 

At first thought, the idea of training again is a good one, to release his frustrations into physical exercise, also while trying to work with Kanan. But then, Ezra's drawn back to last time they sparred, and the look on Kanan's face when Ezra delivered the finishing strike.

 

“Are you sure?” he asks, and watches Kanan's face carefully.

 

“Very,” Kanan replies. He just looks determined; his eyebrows are narrowed, and his lips are pressed together with the slightest hint of a smirk. “Dunno about you, my sword arm is literally itching from all this boring base stuff.”

 

“You can say that again,” Ezra huffs in agreement. “ _I_ was up a ladder all day fitting lights,”

 

“Well, _I_ was listening to Sato drawl about fuel reserves, and trying not to make faces at Hera,” Kanan returns, like a challenge. “I think I win this one.” There's another grin on his face, which all of a sudden, is highly contagious. “Like I'm totally gonna win this rematch.”

 

“You're so on, Kanan,” Ezra says, determined, and in that moment, everything doesn't seem so completely terrible.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's some ungodly hour in the morning when Ezra is disturbed by a sudden sinking feeling in his chest, setting his heart on edge. Master Yoda's words from this morning also take this moment to echo across his thoughts, which isn't enough to pull him from his warm bunk.

 

Instead, he turns over, and settles back down into the blankets, and drifts off again. The tendrils of sleep reach for him, and Ezra is about to welcome them, but then, an unfamiliar presence brushes his mind. The Ghost creaks.

 

Not Master Yoda, then.

 

Ezra grabs his borrowed lightsaber from the nearby compartment, and then pauses again, listening. Light footsteps adorn the hallways outside his shared room.

 

“Zeb,” he hisses, as the ship groans again, under the weight of a stranger's feet. “Zeb, get _up_ , there's someone on the Ghost.”

 

The Lasat doesn't move, always the heaver sleeper, and Ezra's about to prod him, but there's a _snap-hiss_ from further up the hallway, and an hum which should be comforting suddenly sets ice into Ezra's heart.

 

_That's not Kanan_ , the Force tells him, like a stab to his chest.

 

When Ezra scrambles into the hallway, however, it's empty. All of the crew's rooms are locked, free of lightsaber marks, but there's still something _awful_ nearby, radiating hatred and anger into the Force.

 

He keeps his lightsaber raised but not ignited, and places his steps carefully, moving towards the beacon of dark in the Force. He realises, suddenly, that it's coming from _Kanan's_ room, which is when his heart stops for a few moments.

 

Something is terribly, terribly wrong.

 

Kanan is always a beacon in the Force, like a star, to which the old travellers used to guide their ships. He is an anchor for Ezra, both in the real world, and in the Force, as an essence of nothing but the light.

 

Except now.

 

When he reaches out for Kanan's comforting presence, there's nothing but whispers of life which dissipate into the air, and then suddenly, nothing at all.

 

All of a sudden, Ezra can't breathe.

 

He crashes down his mentor's door with the Force raging beneath his fingers, and has his blade raised to meet Kanan's assailant, but the room is empty. There's no attacker, no lightsaber, and no danger.

 

Save the crumpled form on the floor, that is.

 

Kanan.

 

“ _No_ ,” he chokes out, crashing to the floor. “Kanan.” As if he were made of glass, Ezra brushes his fingers over his mentor's shoulder, trying to rouse him, but he's still. Too still. “Kanan, _no_. No, no, _no_. Please, no, Kanan–” Desperate now, Ezra's hands scramble over Kanan's face, trying to find purchase on his cheeks, or his forehead, or _anything_ , but there is nothing but a shell of life. “Kanan! No, Kanan _please_ , Kanan... please... wake up... Kanan...”

 

He presses his head into Kanan's chest, which is soundless, and lets everything consume him. It's so _violent_ , like a tornado which tears through every resolve he's built since he lost his parents, and escapes out of his throat as a scream. He screams, hoarsely, and endlessly, into Kanan's dead chest, but it doesn't make anything better.

 

It just _hurts_ , like he's being burned alive, and his head is on _fire–_

 

“Finally, a true tragedy,” a deep voice suddenly laments from behind Ezra, sounding almost pitiful, but Ezra can see right through it immediately. Because he _knows_ that voice, and he _knows_ he can use all of this pent up rage and pure terror to end him, finally, once and for all.

 

It only takes a split second for the apprentice to raise his golden blade, pivot, and launch himself at the Zabarak standing cloaked in the entrance to Kanan's room.

 

With an almighty cry, he brings down his lightsaber onto Maul's head, and it passes straight through.

 

Maul is nothing but a wisp, which at Ezra's lightsaber, disappears into the air, leaving a trail of black and red particles, like dust. Ezra gives another pained cry, and swings again, blindly, at the air around him.

 

Maul starts laughing.

 

“Now, now, Ezra. What is it? Hate leads to the dark side. Or something along those lines.”

 

“You killed him! You killed my Master!” Ezra screams in response, and swings again, with so much fury he slices through the wall adjacent to Kanan's bunk, leaving a sizable hole. “You took _everything_ from me! He was _everything_ , he's my _father_ because the Empire took mine! I didn't want this! I didn't want to be a Jedi and you still _took it from me!_ ”

 

“I never leave my work unfinished,” Maul returns, his voice controlled, despite the pure _power_ radiating around the room from Ezra's hate-filled words. “What, did you expect I would try to blind any man who defied me? No, Ezra, I was trying to cut off his _head_.”

 

A red blade appears with a _snap-hiss_ in front of Ezra's face, stopping him in his tracks. He can just see Maul's yellow teeth gleaming at him in a wolfish smile.

 

“Tell me, little one, have you looked at the holocron yet?”

 

Utter pain and turmoil rack through his mind, but still, somehow, the teachings contained in the little box brush to the top of his memory. Ezra squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block them out, and focuses instead on the heat of Maul's red blade mere inches from his face.

 

When he opens them again, he's staring at the top of his bunk, his heart hammering in his ears. Maul is gone, Kanan shines through the Force from down the hall, and Zeb rolls over in his sleep.

 

It was just a dream.

 

Ezra takes a deep, shaky breath, and a 'fresher visit later, finds himself wandering up to the hill in the middle of the night.

 

There, he looks down at the holocron in his hands, and out over the darkness of the valley.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know how I'm going, this *is* my first Rebels fic and I'm still playing it by ear a little bit, character wise. Thank you, all your support means so much! Have a lovely day x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter for you all tonight, but alas, the plot will thicken with the next update. Stay tuned!

Ezra brings his yellow blade up to match Kanan's blue one, grimacing in concentration to hold his guard. Kanan's eyebrows are knitted above the bandage, his lips pressed together.

 

Swirling around them both, the Force warns Ezra just before Kanan presses forward with his body weight, overpowering his apprentice. Ezra, however, rolls backwards, clear of Kanan's incoming strike.

 

Now apart, Kanan takes the opportunity to grin. He's out of breath, as is Ezra.

 

“You're doing well,” Kanan praises.

 

Not that Ezra would tell him he's going easy. “Thanks,” he answers, a little flat. “You're not so bad yourself.”

 

Kanan chuckles. “I _know_ , right? Had a whole _week_ to practice. Surprised I'm still on my feet, to be honest.” To demonstrate his adeptness, he twirls the lightsaber around in his hand, and it hums as it cuts through the air. “Considering I kept falling on my ass,” he adds.

 

“Yeah,” Ezra replies, now most definitely flat.

 

Suddenly, the Master sighs, and deactivates his lightsaber. He clips it back to his belt.

 

“This humor thing isn't working, is it?” he asks.

 

Ezra swallows. “Uh...”

 

“Say no more. I'll stop.”

 

“No!” Ezra replies abruptly, then fumbles for what to say next. He doesn't plan these things. “It's fine,” he settles on, slowly. “I mean... uh... whatever makes it easier, I guess.”

 

Kanan's face contorts in amusement. “Right,” he says, which makes Ezra wonder if he'd managed to say the wrong thing. After everything that's happened recently, he's not sure if he can handle upsetting Kanan. But he goes on, “Y'know, this helped, Ezra. Today. Training with you. Getting back into normal routine, it's... not been easy, but I know I can do it.”

 

Oh.

 

Well.

 

“Ezra?” Kanan's voice floats across the hill, hanging on the air like a leaf. His eyebrows are furrowed again, this time in question.

 

“Yeah?” Ezra frowns.

 

“You weren't saying anything."

 

Answering questions _is_ customary, and tends to be polite. Only if you didn't get lost in your own thoughts, that is. “Sorry, I was thinking.” He's honest.

 

Again, Kanan smiles, but sadly this time. “Look...” he says. “I know this week's been hard for you. It's been hard for all of us. I said it all before. But what I wanna emphasise is... really, I'm fine. There's plenty of Jedi who took on the universe blind. Not a new thing. Plus, I've got the Force to guide me.”

 

“It's not guiding me,” Ezra mumbles, and instantly regrets it, because this is about _Kanan_ , not him.

 

However, his Master is quick to reply, “What do you mean?” His face is narrowed in concern, and he radiates pure worry and love, it makes Ezra feel guilty about everything all over again.

 

Really, he should tell Kanan all that's on his mind.

 

About what Master Yoda said, about the dream he had last night, and those lingering thoughts about guilt and self-doubt he can't seem to shake into the Force. He should ask about the dark side, Maul and the holocron.

 

Not to mention, Vader is still alive, and the Emperor is making threats at them. At _Kanan_. All because of kriffing Malachor, where Yoda sent them to _fight_ , but all they came back with was kriffing nothing.

 

With his lips pressed into a firm line, Ezra just shrugs. “Just a feeling, I guess.” Then, he tries to smile, but all of his circling thoughts are weighing down the corners of his mouth. “Or maybe you took all the Force for yourself.”

 

“I'm sure there's still plenty to go around,” he replies, a hint of amusement dancing on his words. “You _could_ try meditating. Which even as it comes out of my mouth, sounds ridiculous, because there's no way I'm asking you to sit still for longer than two seconds.”

 

“Now you're teasing me,” Ezra replies, but wants to say, _I tried that. Master Yoda told me I felt like the dark side. So, yeah, that went great._ Something stops him. A part of him doesn't want to burden Kanan any more, with what him dealing with his own shit, and a part of him is simply just _cold_.

 

In answer, Kanan spreads his hands. “Guilty as charged.”

 

Ezra allows himself a small huff of amusement.

 

Then, he longs to change the subject, because he knows if they start down this topic, he'll start blubbering out all his thoughts, and like a hole blasted in the side of his mind, everything will spill out in a cacophony of words and tears.

 

Kanan doesn't need that. Nobody needs that.

 

“So... uh,” he tries. “All this training is good, yeah, but we are heading back out soon? Zeb might rope me into doing some of _his_ jobs, too.”

 

“Dunno,” Kanan replies. “I know Hera's got some things lined up with Phoenix Squadron, her and Sato have been talking about it for days.”

 

“Not for us?”

 

Kanan shrugs. “She _is_ trying to get the squadron's missions assigned to someone else while all of us... uh... get back into the swing of things.” His eyebrows twitch beneath the bandage.

 

 _Until everybody adjusts_ , is the translation Ezra provides for himself. In the back of his mind, he considers that his heroics on the outpost likely wasn't helping their field readiness, either. _Too eager to prove_ , he thinks he might have overheard one night, from Hera or Sabine, or someone or other.

 

“You think we'll see any more Inquisitors?” he asks next, as a more tangible concern.

 

It's an honest question, one which really only started bothering Ezra since his dream about Maul. They took out _three_ of them on Malachor, wounded Darth Vader and now the Emperor is making threats. It seems unlikely he _wouldn't_ send more Inquisitors to finish them all off.

 

Kanan purses his lips, obviously thinking. “I'm... not sure,” he replies slowly. Then, he brightens a little, a hint of a grin passing his face, which comes as a surprise to Ezra. “We can handle it, though, can't we? The two of us together...” He brushes a thumb over the lightsaber hanging from his belt. “And if we can find some way to unlock that holocron... yeah. We can do it. Sticking it to the Empire, tenfold.”

 

Kanan grins at him, and Ezra's face grins back, hollowly, and his thoughts are focused once again on the holocron, because Kanan doesn't know. Kanan doesn't know a thing at all.

 

* * *

 

“Yes, but _what_ is it?” the Imperial officer hisses, his grey eyebrows narrowed until they nearly meet in the centre of his forehead. He is leaning close, looking over the shoulder of the clone trooper, who is observing the small holo-table with great intent.

 

“I can't tell, sir, the footage is too grainy.”

 

“Ah, yes,” the officer goes on, and harshly presses buttons on the tables surface, replaying the video again. “I'll simply get you to deliver Lord Vader that news.”

 

The speaker output in the trooper's helmet picks him up swallowing. The officer allows himself a devilish smile.

 

Again, they replay the footage. It is the same as last time:

 

An Inquisitor, garbed in a black suit which hugs their body like a blanket, stands at their TIE fighter on the platform. They are preparing to leave; inspecting the ship, wiping their gloved finger across the front screen, when suddenly they straighten as tall as an Imperial comm tower.

 

They turn, reaching for their lightsaber on their back, and a cloaked figure steps into the view of the security holo camera. A lightsaber is also in his hand.

 

There is a few moments of pause, where perhaps the figures converse (security detail at the small outpost could not confirm), and then, the figure descends.

 

He is ruthless with his blade, his attacks aggressive against the obviously overpowered Inquisitor. In a matter of seconds, the figure strikes them down, slicing their blade clean across their stomach. It leaves a sizable mark.

 

The Inquisitor crumples to the ground, clutching at their stomach.

 

Rather than finishing them off, the cloaked figure stops, turns towards the security holo camera, and smiles. His face is blurry, obscured by the shadow of his hood, but his teeth are unmistakably sharp.

 

Then, the footage winks out, leaving the holo table a void.

 

“Hmm,” the Imperial officer says. “It must be a Jedi. I'm sure of it.”

 

“But not the rebels,” the trooper returns.

 

“You can't enhance this footage any more?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

The officer sighs. “Very well. We shall have to tell the dark lord we still have nothing. Four attacks this standard week... and we finally have footage, but yet, nothing. How frustrating,” he says. “Send this to Lord Vader immediately.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To confirm: the Inquisitor in the footage was investigating the outpost raided by the Ghost crew.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the massive delay! Overwatch came out. That's my best and only excuse.

 

It's different to working with his own lightsaber. It feels foreign. _Wrong_. Yet, Ezra pours himself into the Force, using it carefully to dismantle the borrowed shoto.

 

It's soothing, to methodically pull apart the carefully assembled lightsaber like he would a droid or machine.

 

He examines each of the lightsaber's part carefully, both with his eyes and his mind, looking for a mark or brand, a hint or a clue, or _something_ to tell him whose it is.

 

The weapon has a story, as all do, and is simply waiting to tell it. It belonged to someone who treasured it dearly; who poured an essence of themselves into the craftsmanship; who used it to kill, but also to save.

 

Ahsoka told him once that his lightsaber is his life. _This_ lightsaber had been somebody's life once, but now it was in Ezra's hands, abandoned and forgotten.

 

He still longs to unlock all of its secrets, but still, with the device levitated in pieces in the air of the Ghost's common room, he has nothing.

 

Not even the Force whispers to him about this weapon, nor does its eerie yellow-green hue tell stories of its owner. Ezra imagines it to be a majestic Jedi Knight, when the Jedi were at their prime standing proudly as the arm of the Republic. They lead troopers into battle with this weapon, inspire confidence in their charges and liberate cities and townships from the Sep–

 

“Ezra?”

 

The lightsaber clatters onto the table in pieces, his concentration broken.

 

“Sorry, love.” It's Hera standing in the doorway, an apologetic look on her face. “Didn't mean to startle you.”

 

He looks at the mess he now has to clean up, and then scrubs a hand across his neck. “Yeah, it's uh... yeah. Fine. Not really doing anything, anyway.” He looks back at Hera. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Sato's scheduled a briefing for next hour,” she answers. “I know we just got back, but it's urgent, and Kanan insisted.” She gives a little bit of a sigh. “But how's it all going down here?” she asks instead, indicating his scattered lightsaber with an incline of her head, moving towards the table.

 

“Still nothing,” he replies. “It's just... well... yeah. A lightsaber. Doesn't get more exciting than that.”

 

Hera picks up one of the pieces–the thermal regulator–and examines it between her gloved fingers. “There's so much of it,” she remarks. “If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't guess all this fits together to make such a infamous weapon.”

 

“It's mainly the crystal,” Ezra explains, retrieving the tiny stone from the centre of the mess. Funnily, it seems to slot perfectly between his thumb and forefinger. “The rest of it just keeps the energy contained, mainly.”

 

“Could you show me how it works?” Hera sets down her piece back on the table. Ezra looks at her over the top of the crystal. She adds, “If you don't mind of course, love. I just don't come across many things on my ship I can't take apart and put back together again.” A grin crosses her face.

 

Ezra finds himself grinning back. “Yeah, sure,” he answers, setting down the crystal, now above the rest of the pile of parts. “It's Force stuff for me, though. I kinda just... know. It's hard to explain.” In return, Hera eyes him in challenge.

 

With a deep breath, Ezra settles back into the Force, his eyes sliding closed. Hera prickles with curiosity beside him, but also a mix of anticipation and a trace of concern.

 

Carefully, he slots all of the pieces back together, exactly how he remembers it from before. It all slides together with a final satisfying _click_ , and then he lowers the weapon to the table, exhaling.

 

“There,” he announces.

 

“You give me an hour, I'll have that thing apart and back together again” she says.

 

“Oh, yeah?” Ezra finds himself smirking. “Maybe you can help me put my new one together,” he offers.

 

Hera looks genuinely taken aback at the offer. “Ezra, I'd love to. We can definitely get you some better parts now, too, with all of the rebellion's resources.”

 

The appeal of his previous lightsaber had been that it was a labour of love, built from the ground up from pieces of the Ghost and gifted by his friends. His family. The weapon, to him, was always going to be as much theirs as it was his. He uses it to protect them all, after all, and in return they gave him a home.

 

* * *

 

The briefing is no less boring that Ezra expected it to be– they're to steal supplies from an Imperial scheduled transport on some inner rim world, and deliver them to a few settlements in the outer rim in need of relief aid. The Empire certainly wasn't giving any.

 

“The ground assault will be the trickiest,” Sato continues to drawl on. “The facility is heavily guarded, but the rebellion desperately needs those supplies to support these civilians. I've had Ms Wren take the lead on this one.”

 

Proudly, the Mandalorian steps up to the holotable, her coloured helmet under her arm. Ezra hasn't noticed until now, that it's recently coloured. Rather than a mix of pinks and yellows and blues, it's more angled and dark colours– red, brown and black.

 

“It's typical Imperial set up,” Sabine begins, and waves her arm over the holotable, which comes to life beneath her fingertips. “Collection of TIEs in the east ship yard, base smack-bang in the centre. The transports are in port C,” She points at a section of the map, which highlights itself in red. “and are under heavy guard.”

 

She sounds so official and grown up, that Ezra almost forgets she's only a few years older than him. And she's commanding them while Hera nods in approval from next to Sato. The commander simply looks impressed.

 

“I'll sweep in first and draw the majority of the guard away,” she goes on. “It won't be too hard; a few explosives, one or two timed detonations. Zeb, Ezra and Chopper will take care of the rest.”

 

Kanan, meanwhile, stands rested against the nearest wall, an ear turned towards their briefing. He looks relaxed, almost.

 

“Then, Chopper will deactivate any additional security the Imps have on their ships, and the boys will signal for Hera. She'll sweep in and transfer one load of cargo to the Ghost with Kanan, who will cover the transfer with Chopper. I'll pilot the other transport with Ezra and Zeb's cover. We'll rendezvous at Hera's mark.”

 

“Very good, Sabine,” Kanan remarks immediately. “A solid plan. And knowing you, it'll go off without a hitch.” There's a proud half-smile lingering on his face.

 

The official air about Sabine suddenly falters, and crumbles as the Mandalorian breaks out into a smile mirroring Kanan's. “Thanks,” she replies.

 

“If you're all clear...” Sato looks around the room, at which everybody nods, including Kanan. “Good,” he concludes. “You should depart immediately. These colonies are in strategic positions for us to form additional cells. Receiving our aid will bolster our position with these people immensely.”

 

“Understood, sir,” Hera answers. “Let's get going, you lot. You take the lead, Sabine.”

 

She looks at Hera. “What–?”

 

“Eh, c'mon, kid." Zeb elbows her playfully. "A flawless plan like that, you should be striding across the platform to the Ghost. You did good. Own it.”

 

“Alright,” she says, looking around the room like Sato did. “Alright, okay. Spectres, let's do this.” She leads the way to the Ghost. Ezra, of course, follows her, a smile playing on his face, too.

 

* * *

 

Sabine's plan works wonderfully. The majority of the troopers are investigating activity on the opposite side of the compound when Hera swoops in and claims the supplies left on the transport.

 

“Uh... guys,” Sabine's voice crackles over the comms, just as Hera attaches the third of five crates to the Ghost. The boarding ramp is down, with Kanan perched next to the hydraulic supports, perfectly still. “Sorry, but I'm bringing a bit of a party your way. Just clear the way to the other transport. I got it.”

 

“Sa– Spectre Five? Everything alright?” Hera returns immediately.

 

“Fine!” Sabine replies. “Just... well. Yeah. But I neglected the quick access routes between the separate docking bays. But it's fine! I've got it! Just keep a path clear. We can still get both of the transports.”

 

From where Ezra has been guiding the crates into the Ghost, he turns back towards the compound.

 

“Spectre Four, hold position at the second transport,” Kanan adds in, descending gracefully onto the dirt of the inner rim world. Ezra has already forgotten its name, but it's wet and humid, and is making his hair stick to the sides of his face. “Spectre Six and I will deflect attention away from you.”

 

“Spectre One?” Hera questions.

 

“I got this,” Kanan assures, and in turn, ignites his lightsaber. Ezra follows suit. “Spectre Six?” He looks at Ezra.

 

“Ready,” Ezra replies.

 

As promised, Sabine appears from around the adjacent docking bay, firing blindly behind her. A group of troopers immediately follow. The Mandolorian breaks immediately towards the second transport, from where Zeb is firing with his bo-rifle.

 

Kanan and Ezra launch themselves between Sabine and troopers, deflecting bolts back at the company with ease. Ezra has to slip into the Force to ensure he doesn't miss a bolt, and when he checks Kanan next to him, his Master is more deeply immersed than he's ever been before, like he's completely underwater; unreachable.

 

Definitely a question for later.

 

The troopers split, as is their normal battle formation, and one party tries to flank them. Ezra and Kanan move closer to each other instinctively, without so much as a glance or mental nudge.

 

“Cargo is fully loaded onto the Ghost, I'm taking my exit,” Hera announces.

 

“Roger, Spectre Two. Meet you at the rendezvous,” Kanan acknowledges; a shout over the noise of blasterfire. “Spectre Four? What's your status?”

 

“Transport is powering up, Spectre One. When you've got a moment, it'll be lovely if you could join us.”

 

In the corner of his eye, Ezra sees Kanan grin. It's contagious. “Roger, Spectre Four,” he replies. “We're on our way.”

 

The ship is close, but not close enough for the master and apprentice to simply turn and run. The troopers aren't going to let up any time soon, either.

 

“Ezra, get to the transport,” Kanan then says, and somehow, it's exactly what Ezra expected to hear from him. “I'll cover you.”

 

“Nuh-uh, Kanan,” Ezra replies stubbornly. “We do this together.”

 

He senses in this Force that Kanan _wants_ to object, but then he quells it quickly, nodding. “Okay, kid. Lead the way.” Ezra lets out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding.

 

They shuffle towards the transport, toppling trooper after trooper, but another three take a fallen one's place. They definitely expected this type of resistance, but not in such a vulnerable position.

 

Ezra's beyond revealed when he makes it to the transport, which Sabine has nudged into the air, ready to depart. He jumps up onto the boarding ramp, lightsaber still raised, ready to cover Kanan's retreat.

 

His master is fairing fine, deflecting the incoming bolts with ease. In a brief reprieve where the troopers reload, he takes a glance in Ezra's direction, as if confirming his landing on the hovering boarding platform.

 

Ezra lets himself relax–again–because they've done it. It's going to be okay. As this thought crosses his mind, a surprised cry tears itself across the air, and the Force, and he feels a part of him wither away into the abyss.

 

His gaze flies back down to below, where Kanan stands frozen as the stormtroopers continue their onslaught around him. His blade is now loose at his side, and the blindfold stares at his hip, where the fabric of his shirt is now burned away.

 

It takes Ezra a few moments to realise Kanan has been kriffing _shot_ , and everything is in fact not okay at all; nowhere close.

 

“ _Kanan_!” tears out of Ezra's throat immediately, and he leaps back from the transport.

 

One of Kanan's knees hit the ground, and it's there the Jedi Knight's hand clenches around his wound. His shock still whispers through the Force, like electricity on Ezra's skin.

 

Ezra raises his shoto in a sweeping arc as he crashes to the ground in front of his master, blocking all of the incoming bolts. He calls the Force to him in large, engulfing waves, and sweeps it out over the battlefield, until he knows he can keep Kanan safe. He won't let it happen again. Never again.

 

Kanan is already struggling back to his feet, a hand pressed into his side, his jaw clenched in pain, most likely. Immediately, Ezra gravitates to him, directing all of the incoming bolts away. He grabs his spare arm and loops it around his shoulder, hauling him squarely to his feet.

 

Kanan doesn't say much, so Ezra fills the deafening silence between them, “You're going be fine, Master, just fine, I won't let them–”

 

“I'm okay,” Kanan says, not gruffly at all, but doesn't repossess his arm. “Just took me by surprise. It's just a graze, Ezra, I'm okay. You can...” He swallows, and there's a beat of pause, where Ezra tenses. “... stop.”

 

Ezra lets him go, but watches his master closely, ready to catch him should he fall.

 

Kanan stays on his feet, but still holds his hand into his side, tentatively. He's slowed now– almost stopped, as if there isn't a battle going on around them; as if he doesn't have to rush back to the transport, to get home in one piece.

 

“Ezra,” Kanan says, again, more pointedly, his face directed towards his apprentice. It feels like a pause. A reprieve, in the middle of battle, amongst the hail of blaster bullets directed towards them. “You can stop now. It's okay.”

 

There's a sudden stretch of silence, where Ezra wonders what in the kriffing hells Kanan is going on about, when they're standing in the middle of a kriffing firefight.

 

Except, it's silent.

 

There are no bullets.

 

Then, there's a strangled sound behind them. Kanan turns, and Ezra follows his example, to see stormtroopers suspended in their armor, and another five close behind him and Kanan, raised high into the air, clutching at their necks, like they're choking. Not one is firing. Not one can.

 

Ezra's breath hitches, and the troopers drop the ground like a puppet whose had its strings cut. The rest collapse to the ground, clutching at their limbs, and aren't quick to get up.

 

It's still quiet. Silent. A battlefield isn't silent.

 

“Ezra, how did you do that?” Kanan almost whispers, in some mix of awe, aspiration and pure kriffing _fear_.

 

Do _what_? Ezra wants to ask, because all he did was save Kanan, _finally_ , and now he's being stared at like he's grown a third arm. Even through the white blindfold, Kanan's eyes still seem to bore into Ezra's, accusing and wary.

 

“I...” is all Ezra says.

 

“Come _on!_ ” Sabine practically screams into their ears. “Kanan! Ezra!” She's in the cockpit of the ship, waving her arms frantically. “Before more of them come!”

 

It's Kanan who grabs Ezra and runs the both of them up into the transport, where Sabine takes no opportunity to delay leaving. The jump is hyperspace is almost immediate, and jolts through the ship as they reach the edge of the cargo bay. It's there Kanan stops, a hand still curled protectively around his side, but his blindfold doesn't move from Ezra.

 

“Ezra...” he asks again. “What... what _was_ that?”

 

Ezra swallows, then looks down at his hands which he curls into loose fists, and doesn't know what to say because he doesn't kriffing know, either. He answers, “ _What_ was _what_ , Kanan? I had to save you, I had to. I couldn't do it, not again, not after–” But he stops himself, afraid of what else will spill out should he not sew his jaw shut. “I just didn't... think. Just acted. And I _know_ that's not the Jedi way but I–”

 

“Kanan, what the hell happened out there?” Sabine interrupts him, having appeared from the nearby corridor. She looks between them both. “Are you okay?”

 

Ezra looks at his master, too, who simply sighs in what sounds like dismissal. “It just scraped me, Sabine, I'm fine. I just need to–”

 

“Nope, you don't get to do that,” she cuts over him easily. “Sit down, Zeb's getting the kit.”

 

Kanan sighs again, and reluctantly takes a seat on a nearby collection of cargo crates. Ezra looks between him and the.... well, actually quite furious Mandalorian standing over his master. She has her arms crossed, brow narrowed in a mix of anger, dejection and worry. There's also a mountain of concern brimming in her brown eyes, and protectiveness, and simply just endless radiation of a sense of family. Love. Compassion.

 

Ezra, however, just feels cold.

 

“Sabine... it's the green one, right?” Zeb calls from the nearby hallway, a furred head poking around the corner.

 

“The red one! It's got a big cross on it, Zeb, you can't miss it,” she returns, but doesn't take her eyes off Kanan.

 

Five minutes later, Kanan looks slightly bemused and has an additional bacta patch affixed to his body, Sabine's still protective, Zeb's standing there awkwardly, and Ezra's kriffing _shivering_. When did it get so cold in here?

 

Kanan gets to his feet, and Zeb jokes, “Do I need to carry you up to the cockpit, too?”

 

“I'm _fine,_ ” he returns in monotone. “Let's just get to this rendezvous. It can't be much longer on the hyperspace journey.” He disappears down the corridor towards the cockpit, not even limping.

 

* * *

 

When there's finally a moment to take a breath after Sabine submits the successful mission report, Hera corners Kanan in a quiet corridor near the briefing room.

 

“Show me,” she says.

 

Typically, he feigns innocence. It stirs up irritation in her she hasn't felt in a while. “What? The tiny little blaster burn?”

 

“ _Yes_ , the tiny little blaster burn which scared Sabine half to death,” Hera replies in turn, sternness rolling off her words. “Show me, or I take you straight to the med droid.”

 

He sighs, and rolls up his damaged shirt to properly reveal the little bacta patch. His fingers take a moment to find the edge of the bandage, but then he peels it off, showing her the wound.

 

It's right on his hip, and is an angry red mark about the side of Hera's palm, stretched from his side onto his back. It looks sore. Hera looks back up at Kanan's face, to say something, but he's already rambling, “Hera, it's fine, really. I'm fine. The bacta's working. There won't even be a mark there, I'll bet you ten credits.”

 

She blinks, as if she's not hearing him right. “I'm not betting on your _health_ , Kanan Jarrus.”

 

“You're using my full name,” he points out.

 

“I am,” she replies pointedly.

 

Again, Kanan sighs. “Really, Hera, I'm fine.”

 

“I still want you checked over, Kanan, because it's _you_ who pushed for a more risky mission and it's _you_ who got hurt. Even if it is... just a scrape. You're lucky. What if it had been worse?”

 

“It wasn't,” he returns defensively. “And we handled it, didn't we? Two loads of cargo, four colonies supported by the rebellion. Sabine did really well.”

 

“Don't change the topic.”

 

“There's nothing to talk about, Hera,” Kanan insists in return. “I'm _fine_. It's just a blaster bolt, a stray one. What did you expect, it's not like I can _see_ all of them–” His voice breaks.

 

Hera stops her sharp reply quickly. “Kanan?”

 

“I'm fine,” he repeats.

 

She looks him up and down, and then glances around, noting the hallway is still mostly empty. “You know, love, I can still read you like a book. Those eyebrows give it all away.” She steps closer, slipping one of her hands into his. He grips on. “Talk to me.”

 

Kanan sighs lengthily, then swallows. “You're always right,” he says quietly. “I know I wanted this, the mission, but...” He trails off.

 

“But?” she prompts him.

 

“But... I don't know," he finishes, vaguely. “I just don't want people deciding how I fight. I can make my own decisions.”

 

This has been a difficult subject for them ever since Malachor. Hera suspects it always will be. She has so much to wants to say to him about this– about how he should take it slowly, set his new boundaries, not push himself... yet, he's Kanan Jarrus, and Kanan Jarrus doesn't listen.

 

“I don't know what to do,” he then says. “It's not me, Hera, not really. It's... everyone. Our family. We're never all together anymore, all off fighting a bigger fight. And after what Ezra pulled today I... I don't know how to help him. Help any of them.”

 

“I think,” Hera starts gently, “before we help everyone else, we have to help you, first.”

 

Typically, he brushes her off. “You didn't feel the Force when he jumped in to get me,” Kanan replies instead. “It's exactly the same, like the first time we dueled. The dark side.”

 

Now _that_ sets an icicle of fear into her heart.

 

* * *

 

When the post-mission briefing is over, Ezra takes the holocron and walks up the hill. He perches himself right on the edge, twirling the little box between his fingers, and thinks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I wonder where Ezra learned THAT move from?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly feel terrible about how slow I'm updating this. It's a combination of uni, Overwatch and writer's block, and I only really have control over my consumption of video games. I feel even worse because I've sliced this chapter in half. I decided the bulk of it belongs in the next chapter, which will likely be one of the longest of this fic, and will answer most of your plot questions.
> 
> So, here is an interim chapter for now, and when I update next (hopefully very very soon!) you'll be all filled in. Thank you so much for your patience. You're all wonderful.

Halfway into meditating on his collection of thoughts, there's a ripple through the Force which easily tears through Ezra's concentration. It creeps up on him from somewhere across the horizon, as a tingle of calm, serenity, and just a slight bit of cold.

 

His eyes fly open quickly, finding the hill as empty as when he found it. The holocron is sitting in the dust in front of him, still. The little box is facing the stretches of clouds which are quickly turning pink, and absent-mindedly, Ezra realises how long he's been up here for. Thinking.

 

He's been doing a lot of that lately.

 

Yet, in amongst his tangle of thoughts, there's no mistaking the familiar Force signature which just reached out for him, even while it's twinged with the frigidness of the dark side. It still emanates the infamous Jedi serenity, touching his mind gently, like a soft lingering touch on his skin.

 

“Ahsoka?”

 

Then, it leaves as quickly as it appears, dissipated by a breeze which brushes across the hill. Eyes wide, he stuffs the holocron into his pocket, and takes off back towards the base to find Kanan.

 

* * *

 

The Jedi Knight is in the main control room when Ezra finds him, having tracked him through their bond. When he slips into the room, however, he finds not only Kanan, but the remainder of the Ghost crew circled around the centre table in the control room. At the head of the room, Sato is drawling something, pointedly gesturing at the piece of gibberish displayed on the holo-table in the middle of the group.

 

They were all together, having a meeting, without him. His chest quickly curls up into a knot, tying itself into a folly of emotions he's not exactly sure how to feel.

 

Kanan is opposite Sato, both of his hands set on the table. His shoulders are set firmly. It's obvious he's listening closely. Then, he lifts his head as Ezra draws in a breath, and then says his name like it hurts on his tongue, “Ezra. Hey, kid.”

 

Sato stops. Everybody turns to look at him. For some reason, it's horribly disconcerting. He feels like he's standing in a room full of strangers. Regardless, he forces a smile, mainly because of the worried smile on Hera's face.

 

“Hey... uh, I didn't know you guys were meeting?” he answers, wringing his fingers in front of himself.

 

Then, his eyes are drawn again to the holo-table. There, the gibberish floating has gone fuzzy, yet everybody else still around him is still focus. Narrowing his eyes at his tunnel vision, he blinks to clear it, but then the holo-table has changed to simply says one word: Revan.

 

“... virus transmission from the outer rim,” Hera is saying when he can finally tear his eyes away from the display, scowling. “Ezra, love?” she prompts.

 

“Yeah?” He looks back to Hera. Again, she's smiling, her entire face creased in concern. “Sorry.”

 

“No, I'm sorry,” she replies, shaking her head. “I should have contacted you. I figured you might have wanted to be left alone after the mission.”

 

“I'm fine,” is his automatic reply. He glances to the holo-table, which glares angrily back at him. “I came to find Kanan. I felt this... like... disturbance. In the Force.”

 

Kanan stands up a little straighter. “You felt it too,” he says. “Great. Now I'm glad I know I'm not going mad.”

 

“Still wouldn't put it past ya,” Zeb remarks.

 

Kanan sets his mouth into an unimpressed line, looking towards Zeb, a singular eyebrow raised. “ _And_ ,” he continues pointedly, shifting his attention back towards Ezra, “it's something to do with this transmission, I'm sure of it.” He turns back towards the holo-table again. “It's just scribble though, they told me. It doesn't make any sense.”

 

But it does. It makes perfect sense. Not that Kanan can see it, but the others should be able to.

 

“We ran it against translation software,” Sato jumps in. “Apparently, it's an ancient sith code. We can't translate it.”

 

“We think it's an attempted hack into our communications,” Hera says.

 

“Or an Imperial threat we can't read,” Zeb offers.

 

“The Emperor's already made threats,” Kanan points out. He leans further into the console. “They all turned up empty.”

 

“But...” Ezra takes another long look at the twirling word on the holo-table, then looks at his friends, frowning deeply. Again, they're staring at him, and everything just feels so _wrong_. He closes his mouth.

 

Of course, Kanan prompts him, “What are you thinking, Ezra?”

 

“Nothing,” he quickly answers. “I don't know what it is.”

 

With a sigh, the Ghost crew turn back towards the table. “I just don't understand,” Sabine goes on talking with the others, as if they hadn't invited Ezra to their critical Jedi-Sith-code-thing meeting. “There's no way it could have been the Empire. This is a secure comm channel, it's encrypted to shab.”

 

“But it has to be,” Zeb insists. “It's sithspit, literally. The only Sith are Darth stupid-ass and Vader.”

 

Their discussions drag on, and Ezra is still standing there in the doorway, the holocron heavy in his pocket. When he raises his eyes again to the twirling code piece, scrawled to him as _Revan_ , the box squirms in his pocket. Ezra covers it with his hand, and it radiates cold through his palm.

 

Something has changed. Something _has_ to have changed, because he's fairly sure the holocron just decrypted the Sith code for him to understand. It reached into his mind and granted him a gift; it broke through the walls of light he and Kanan have constructed.

 

They're connected now. And that's a terrifying thought, so he needs to be sure.

 

Ezra practically runs from the room, and in his scramble, doesn't see the glances exchanged by the Ghost crew, or Kanan start after him, worry written all over his face.

 

* * *

 

A shudder in the Force rouses Maul from his kata. He pauses mid-step, an arm still arched in the air, prepared to slice at an unseen foe with his red lightsaber.

 

The urn on the table across the dingy rented room shudders just slightly.

 

“You felt it too,” he translates.

 

 _The dark side_ , whispers the musty air.

 

Maul spreads his teeth into a dangerous smile. “It's hungry.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can make a pretty educated guess about where we're going :^)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the bulk of the fic right here. I've been sitting on it for a good two weeks now, umm'ing and ahh'ing about edits and the likes. Figured it'd be best if I put the most revised version out there, so alas, here we are! As always, I love and appreciate any and all feedback you have. Please don't hesitate to leave some in the comments. 
> 
> You're all wonderful, thank you so much for your support!

Ezra's legs carry him to his door, to where he first opened the little box. He'd knelt in the center of his room and let all of his guilt consume him, pouring it into the dark side, and in return the box had granted him knowledge.

 

Never before has it touched him like it had in the briefing room, though. Never has he felt so cold.

 

His breath quick, he stumbles into his and Zeb's shared cabin, the door hissing shut behind him. There, he collapses to his knees in the middle of the room, and takes a few moments to collect himself.

 

The box shudders in his pocket again. With a shaky breath, he pulls it from its pouch, setting it in front of his knees. It watches him. Waits.

 

Ezra stares back.

 

Then it does it again – an icy presence brushes the edge of his mind, like the artifact is alive, pressing against his shields with carefully practised precision. Ezra can't stifle the gasp when it slips between the cracks of the light.

 

Its presence is gentle in his mind, albeit slightly uncomfortable, like an itch he can't scratch. And then it just sits there. The actual box still watches from the ground.

 

This is not what Ezra wanted, definitely not. To be truly  _connected_ with the very thing he's vowed himself to destroy, supposedly.

 

_But you still used it._

 

_To fight. To help._

 

_Keep telling yourself that, little one._

 

Yes, the teachings of the holocron had helped him in more ways than one–even holding the box in his hand settles him, sometimes. Today, it helped him save Kanan. Finally.

 

Perhaps, that's the price for Ezra's new-found knowledge; to be connected with his new teacher, now, and forever, like he is connected with Kanan. The box's presence in his mind is different to his Master's–Kanan is a streak of light, the box is a smothering blanket.

 

“Ezra?” Kanan's voice, all of a sudden, outside his closed door. “You in there, kid?”

 

The shock of it–that Kanan followed him out of the briefing room, and is now moments from discovering what his apprentice has succumbed to–steals Ezra's breath from him. The Force flares in alarm, too.

 

“Uh–” he finally squeaks out, turning his head towards the door, but by then, it's already too late; Kanan's deemed his momentary silence and obvious Force presence answer enough.

 

His Master is standing in the doorway, like he would if he were wishing Ezra goodnight, or asking him about this or that. It's casual. He doesn't mean to intrude on Ezra's troubles, obviously, but as soon as the door opens, his posture changes: Kanan's entire body tenses, his jaw sets, and his eyebrows knit together.

 

“Ezra, that's not...” His chin moves, so that he's looking to the little box sitting in front of Ezra. He doesn't have to see it to know what it is. “Please tell me that's not what I think it is.”

 

Ezra jumps up quickly to meet Kanan. The little box stays where it is, but the presence in his mind stays as is. “It's not! It's not what it looks like, I swear, I just wanted to see if I could... could...” He has no idea what he's trying to accomplish with his words, aside from noise.

 

Kanan calls the holocron to his hand. As soon as his fingers touch the device, the Force _roars_ , nearly sending Ezra pitching to the cabin floor.

 

“You told me you put it in storage!”

 

“I did! I–”

 

“Then _what_ in the kriffing hell are you doing with it?”

 

“Checking! The code! I thought it could help us, I–”

 

“You shouldn't even be able to open it! It's a _Sith_ holocron, Ezra, only sith can open it, how did you...” He looks at Ezra, _straight_ at him, and he looks more scared than Ezra's ever seen him before. “You opened it. You opened a kriffing Sith holocron all by yourself.”

 

Ezra can really only stare back. The Force still rages within him, begging to be released from his mind, but Kanan's face trained on him keeps it all at bay.

 

His Master continues, “You... Ezra, you shouldn't have done this. The dark side is dangerous, there's no boundaries. You get lost in it, lose the light, and you lose yourself.”

 

Suddenly, Ezra's angry. Kriff, he's furious, because after _everything_ he's done since Malachor, Kanan's just lecturing him, yelling at him. _Again_. “You don't understand, do you?” It's a bit like a tidal wave, a pent-up ball of the light and dark, crashing through the small room. “I did this to help! Everything I ever do, it's to keep you and Hera and everyone safe! All I want, Kanan, is for nothing to happen to you or the others again ever again.”

 

“You don't need this to keep us safe,” Kanan replies immediately, holding up the Sith relic. “You already do that. You're a Jedi.”

 

Bitter, Ezra bites back, “Yeah, well, Jedi Ezra Bridger got his master blinded. Killed Ahsoka. Turned out kriffing _wonderfully_ didn't it?” Kanan visibly flinches at his words. The apprentice goes on, “The holocron helped me, Kanan. It saved you on that mission today. That was me. It showed me things. To help. All the Jedi training, all of the things you've taught me, it wasn't enough to save you. My own _master._ This is the only way I can keep you safe.”

 

For some reason, it takes Kanan a moment to answer. He's frozen, completely stopped. Not even his chest is moving. “You mean...” he says breathlessly. “You've been using this?” The holocron slips from his hand, hitting the floor with a _thud_. Kanan doesn't seem to notice, instead, his face is trained on Ezra.

 

“I had to!” Ezra throws up his hands. “You lost your kriffing sight for it, Ahsoka _died_ , and it was just... sitting there. And I... I didn't...” He trails off, his throat choking up in emotion–despair, that Kanan doesn't understand, and anger, that he has to justify all he's done to keep him safe.

 

“Ezra, no, this is not...” Kanan runs a hand over his head, tugging at his ponytail. “This isn't right. You should have told me, we could have done it safely–”

 

Ezra cuts over him, “What use is it! You didn't want to talk to me! You blame me, don't you, you blame me for everything. For Ahsoka, for Vader, for your kriffing _eyes_ –” His voice breaks, squeezed by despair.

 

“No, never,” Kanan is quick to affirm in reply. “It's not your fault.”

 

“But all you do is lecture me,” Ezra answers, his voice resigned. “You're always angry with me when all I'm trying to do is help."

 

Kanan takes a deep breath in this moment, slipping into the Force for that scarce slice of silence between them. Looking for answers. Huh, even his own Master doesn't know how to fix him, and what a horrible thought that is. Ezra swallows. “Even Master Yoda told me I failed.”

 

The holocron leaps back into Kanan's hand at his command, and his mouth is set into a line as he starts speaking, “Ezra...” he says, slowly. “We agreed to always talk to each other. Now... I... I don't know what to do. You're learning from this. You're meddling with things you don't understand.”

 

The rage from before returns in full force, consuming Ezra once again, because Kanan still doesn't krififng understand.  _He never will_. “What else was I supposed to do with it?!” Ezra fires back. “You almost died for it! Ahsoka's _gone_ to make sure we got this! And for what?!”

 

Yet, the Jedi's voice is calm, “We would have worked it out, Ezra, together.”

 

“Yeah, well, I did it all by myself,” he snaps. “I didn't need you.” That shocks a breath out of the man standing in front of him. “I worked it all out, it showed me things, I used them, and now it's helping me. It decrypted that code you weren't going to show me. It's useless, by the way, it just says 'Revan'.”

 

Now, Kanan freezes in shock, but this time the Force runs cold, too.

 

“This is Revan's holocron.” he affirms to himself in realisation, like he can't quite believe it. The Jedi knight drops his chin to look at the red box sitting in his hand. Ezra does, too, and he is scowling. “No wonder Maul was after it, and Vader. It contains the secrets of the Sith; all of their teachings, their values, their very operation. And that message, it was a warning. It had to be.”

 

“It was Ahsoka.”

 

Kanan's face flies to Ezra's again. “What?”

 

“The message,” he explains, “the disturbance in the Force, it was from her. I know it.”

 

He knows _why didn't you tell me_ is on the tip of Kanan's tongue, but thankfully, the Jedi doesn't ask the question. Instead, he takes a deep breath. “I... I need to get this to Sato. The whole rebellion could be in danger if they're out for this thing.” It takes him a moment to realise what he's said to Ezra, still standing in front of him, defeated by their argument. Again, the Jedi sets his mouth into a line, his tone bordering on mournful, “You and me, kid, we're not done here. Understand?”

 

Ezra doesn't answer. He doesn't know what to say.

 

“Ezra,” Kanan prompts sharply. “Kid. Please. I'm sorry, but lives are in danger. Look... just... come with me. Help me sort this out, then we'll talk.”

 

He doesn't have much of a choice in the matter. “Okay.”

 

Kanan breathes an obvious sigh of relief. He claps Ezra on the shoulder, turning him towards the cabin door. The contact is incredibly warm against his skin, even through his clothes.

 

They don't talk that day, Kanan's too busy settling his concerns about the holocron, and making sure Ezra doesn't stray from his side.

 

* * *

 

That night, Ezra finds himself floating. First, on Kanan's many heated words to him, and then, on Revan and the holocron. Or, well, Revan's holocron.

 

The second train of thought scrawls Ezra into existence, so that the world below him becomes dark, tinged with the slightest bit of red. There are shapes which slowly come into focus as he descends closer towards the ground.

 

He recognises it as the Sith Temple. A few moments later, he recognises the shape in the center of the darkened room, too, kneeling, with her hands planted on her knees, her orange lids shut. She is relaxed.

 

Ahsoka.

 

He watches her for a while, curious. He tries reaching for her at one point, but he cannot touch her, nor with his hands or his mind; she is simply too far away.

 

Suddenly, she stiffens, cracking her eyes open. Another figure steps into the darkness. He is almost akin to it in his dark cloak, which is like a shadow, merging him into the blackness.

 

Unlike Ahsoka, Ezra cannot see him. The new figure is nothing more than his cloak, shrouded in the darkness and the dark side. Then Ahsoka speaks, and Ezra's knows she does, because he registers sounds against his eardrums but they do not make any sense. The figure replies in time, indecipherable.

 

It does not help that the Force rages in his ears like an angry river, pounding against his head. It is unsettled here, wherever here is.

 

The shadow begins to circle the togruta, the Force gathering in the room. It presses down on Ezra again, compressing him, making the sounds harder to hear. They become more like echoes rattling against his eardrums, getting further and further away.

 

Suddenly, the Force reaches out, and all of it hurtles out of the room at once. The darkened room of the Sith Temple is a lot clearer now, and Ezra returns to it to see the cloaked figure looming over Ahsoka, his red lightsaber sticking out of her chest.

 

“Ahsoka–!” he chokes out immediately, his tongue heavy.

 

The figure is saying something, then sheathes his lightsaber. Ahsoka curls in on herself, pitching forward onto the ground. In response to the unintelligible noise from the shadow, Ahsoka lets out a bemused huff. Then, Ezra hears her as clear as day, “It's over, Plagueis.” Yet her voice is weak, fading.

 

The figure–Plagueis–growls low. He moves, and then Ezra can see him, finally; a mangle of skin; twists of scars and a horrible, disfigured smile that sets his heart on edge. No wonder he hides in his cloak-the dark side.

 

“Then I go for the boy,” he says.

 

“Too... late...”

 

“Your warning will do little.”

 

Ahsoka doesn't answer this time. Ezra just stares. Stares, stares and stares, until the figures leaves the room and Ahsoka and all of it behind.

 

He gasps awake some time later, a headache raging at his temple. An aching longing overtakes him for a few brief moments, that he wants to hold the holocron in his hands. That, logically, it will make the pain of his sudden headache subside.

 

"Go to sleep, kid," Kanan murmurs from above him, on his own bunk.

 

Ezra, grimacing as he rolls over, tries to settle back into his borrowed bunk below his Master, and fails.

 

* * *

 

 

Really, Ezra should meditate on it, but he can't even settle into the Force to begin with, not since whatever had happened last night. Every time he tries to sink into the ebb and flow thrumming through the air around him, it pushes him back out.

 

The more he thinks on it, the more he believes it to be a vision, and the more he concludes he should not tell Kanan. The dream, or the vision, had been an encouragement to the emotions running rampant in his mind, and a complement to the dark side that now sits there as a part of him.

 

 

He needs to consider what's happened over the last day–he and Kanan's... fight, and this vision–but he knows he won't be spared that luxury. Kanan is glued to him, watching him like he's a rabid bantha. Even now, he sits next to Ezra as Sato explains their red alert status, his knee resting against his apprentice's, confirming he's still there next to him.

 

When the briefing is over, Kanan avoids questions from commanding officers, from pilots, even from Hera, and sits Ezra down in a quiet room.

 

"Look," is the first thing Kanan says. "I'm sorry about yesterday." And it's a start. Ezra allows himself to meet his eyes. "Walking into that room... The last thing I expected to find was you sitting with that blasted holocron like it was nothing. It scared me. It scares me even more than I could lose you."

 

It's such a heartfelt confession, Ezra is about to bring himself to say something,  _anything_ , but Kanan goes on.

 

"And it scares me, Ezra, that you succumbed to it. I've taught you everything I know and it wasn't enough to keep you safe. I don't know what else I'm supposed to do." He leans forward now, scraping a hand through his hair. "I thought about it, while you tossed and turned last night, and I think, I need to put it to you. What do I do? What do  _we_ do?"

 

"You think I'm broken," Ezra translates. "That you're supposed to... what... fix me? Just because I used the holocron?"

 

"Ezra," Kanan's tone is weary, but also tired, almost as exhausted as Ezra feels. "You know that's not what I said. I meant: we need to work through this, figure out a way to move past it. Jedi don't-" He stops himself there, shaking his head.

 

"Jedi don't what?" The apprentice swallows, because Force kriffing damnit, he was right. "Jedi don't use Sith holocrons?" The anger returns, not completely unwarranted. Truly, he  _wants_ to settle this with Kanan, move past it, but all the words that have been said cannot be undone. Yet, he can't keep the heat of his words at bay; his mind encourages it, pouring all of the emotion out through the cracks in between the light. "I was never a Jedi, Kanan, ever. You've always known that. Yet you still asked me."

 

"Don't say that, kid," is Kanan's reply, but it's weak, like he doesn't know what he's supposed to say. "You're my padawan. Nothing changes that."

 

Ezra shakes his head. "I gave up everything for you... for this rebellion. I lost my parents to it.  _Everything_. I lost everything because of your fight against the Empire that I  _never_ asked to be a part of." He's on his feet, not having realised it until now, that he's looming over Kanan. The anger seeps through his entire body, cold and unforgiving. A small part of him reminds him how irrationally he's acting, but the darkness suppresses it completely. “But you don't want me here! You never did, any of you, ever. I'm just a burden, you're always angry because it's _me_ who's done something wrong. It's _me_ who did this to you, all of you. I ruined it all. And I never wanted any of it, never _asked_ to be here, and you're _still_ angry at me for it!”

 

He finishes there, chest heaving, but Kanan's face is stoic in comparison. His lips are quivering.

 

“Ezra,” he says, soundly utterly broken, hopeless–

 

_Come to me, little one._

 

“Please, believe me when I say, none of that, _any_ of it is true.”

 

_Leave him. Come to me._

 

“I don't know what you've done to yourself, Ezra, but I swear I'm going to help you, if you'll let me. Because you need help, Ezra, you do. We all do. We need to sit down, properly, talk this out, what's going on in that head of yours.”

 

_Leave._

 

_Leave now._

 

“And I– Ezra?” Kanan blinks, actually blinks from behind his bandage, because when he returns his attention to Ezra from his own thoughts, his padawan is gone. The room is empty. “Ezra!”

 

Ezra is leaving, just like he is asked. He's clambered into a fighter and is sauntering away from the base, the rebellion, and everything he's ever known. On the planet below, Kanan is frantic–desperate. His heart is hammering in his ears, and he reaches out again, in vain, for Ezra's Force presence on the base. Yet, the kid has vanished.

 

“ _What do you mean he's gone_?” Hera's horrified voice crackles over the comm at him, while he's catching his breath, having run a lap of the massive building. “ _You told me you had it under control, Kanan!_ ”

 

“I did, Hera, I did!”

 

“ _Oh, Force. Hang on. I'll see if I can contact him_.”

 

She falls silent, and Kanan barks, “You don't think I actually tried that? Kid ain't picking up his comm.”

 

“ _Just! Give me a second! I'm tracking it now_.”

 

“You can do that?”

 

“ _From the right computer panel, yes_ ,” she returns. He hears tapping through the commlink, then she gasps. “ _Oh_ ,” she says. “ _Oh, Ezra, no. No no no–_ ”

 

Kanan winces. “ _What_ , Hera?” he demands. “What is it?”

 

“ _After you mentioned Revan's holocron to me, I dug up some archives on it_.” She swallows, and honestly, Kanan didn't think it could get much worse until she explains, “ _It... it's known to exert a certain type of... control. Over its users. It's something to do with how it channels the Force, the crystal. It becomes more and more unstable, affecting the user more and more until..._ ” She trails off, but Kanan doesn't need to hear the rest of it to understand.

 

“Fuck,” Kanan swears, actually swears, pinching the bridge of his nose. He doesn't know what else to do. Honestly, he'd rather be screaming right now, throwing things about with his hands and the Force, but he's in a hallway full of rebels and it won't change the fact Ezra's gone.

 

Hera's voice is shaky, and again, turns Kanan's whole world upside down, “ _And his comm... it's..._ ”

 

“Hera...?”

 

“ _Kanan, it's... gone. Off-planet. He's exiting the atmosphere_.”

 

Kanan's never run faster in his life.

 

The Force warns him of incoming people and droids, of twists and turns and doors and dead-ends, until he eventually he ends up where he wants to be–at the Ghost. He clambers into the Phantom, stealing Chopper as he does so.

 

“Chop, get me out of here. Now.”

 

Hera's voice startles him back to reality for a few moments. “ _Kanan, you seriously can't be thinking_ –”

 

“I'm not letting Ezra face this alone, whatever that piece of sithspit's done to him. I'm going after him.”

 

“ _Not by yourself you're not._ _Wait_.”

 

“No, it'll be too late, we'll lose him. Keep tracking the ship and his comm from there. Transfer the data to the Phantom's console, Chopper can process it and we'll follow him through hyperspace.”

 

The droid remarks something Kanan doesn't hear, but he gets to work on the console. Kanan feels blindly for a seat, practically collapsing into it, exhausted. The ship lurches a few moments later, moving, up and up and up, out towards the reaches of space. Towards Ezra.

 

He swore once, to the Temple Guardians, that he understood he'd never be able to protect Ezra from himself. It is the oath on which his knighthood stands. Yet, here he is, chasing after his wayward apprentice.

 

“ _Get Chopper to set up long range communications_ ,” Hera says in his ear. “ _I'm not losing you, Kanan. We're still doing this together._ ”

 

The Jedi relays the command to the droid, and shortly, Hera's voice echoes around the entirety of the Phantom. Kanan realises at one point he's sitting in the exact same seat on which he returned from Malachor.

 

“ _I've sent Chopper the coordinates, Ezra's programmed them already._ ”

 

“Where's he going?”

 

“ _Dathomir_.”

 

Kanan recalls the planet vaguely from his galactic history classes, that it was once home a race of witches, rumoured to be Force sensitive. Long since extinct, but it still makes him shiver all the same.

 

“ _Kanan_?” Hera asks, and the Jedi realises he hasn't answered her.

 

“I'm here,” he replies. “Sorry.”

 

“ _Are you okay_?”

 

“You want me to lie, just so you feel a little bit better about all this?”

 

Hera doesn't answer for a few moments. “ _I... no, Kanan. This is... scary._ ” She trails off, then swallows thickly. “ _I've commed the others, a few communications officers, and Sato is on his way. They're going to send help. It's serious, Kanan, it's okay to not be okay_. _But we'll get Ezra home safe. I promise._ ”

 

“Yeah,” Kanan echoes, swallowing. “I'm coming, kid.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was alright, wanted to get it up now otherwise I'd never post it! Stay tuned.
> 
> To clarify: Hera's able to track Ezra's fighter because it's a rebellion ship, all connected to the central consoles on the base. Handy, right?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little update of the little I've got written for the conclusion of this fic. As a peace offering, the next chapter is the last chapter followed by a short epilogue for chapter 11, so we're not far off folks! There's not too much for me to procrastinate from now :*)
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your continued support and patience! All of your comments and feedback mean a lot, especially as this is one of my first proper Star Wars fics. I hope you have a lovely day.

“It is done. The boy is enroute to Dathomir.” Far too old to be kneeling, and yet. Maul bows his head as Plagueis turns to face him.

 

“Wonderful news,” the disfigured sith replies. He dips his head back, exposing the tangle of skin which was once his neck. A dark smile consumes his face. “Sheev does not have long left to stain this galaxy.”

 

Maul raises his gaze, mouth set into a line. “And my brother?” he asks carefully.

 

“In time.” The answer is whimsical, at best. From somebody hell bent on revenge. “We take care of my old wayward apprentice first, as is our deal.”

 

“Of course. _Master_.”

 

* * *

 

The hyperspace journey is the exact opposite of pleasant. Kanan tries, but nothing can quell the impending sense of doom lingering over him. Reaching out to the Force only makes him realise how empty his mind is without Ezra's constant presence.

 

Hera keeps regular comm contact and it's a blessing; she's in the Ghost a good twenty minutes behind him, plus Phoenix Squadron, ready for anything.

 

“ _You're not going to wait for us, are you_?”

 

Kanan has his head pressed against the cool cabin wall, leaning into it as he talks to Hera. “No.”

 

“ _Love_...” Hera's tone is low, but Kanan knows that she knows there's no swaying him.

 

“I can't let him face this alone. It's not his fault. This kriffing holocron, it's twisting him into something he's not.”

 

“ _I know._ ” She sighs, almost like static across the comm line. “ _I'm worried for Ezra, Kanan, but I need you safe too._ ”

 

Another argument that keeps cropping up again and again, more frequently since Malachor. Kanan presses his lips together, then makes a noise of acknowledgement in reply. “Thank you, Hera,” he murmurs.

 

“ _May the Force be with you, my love._ ”

 

“May it be with all us.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing he realises is how _hot_ Dathmoir is. For a planet caked in the dark side of the Force, it reeks of humidity and sweat. Wiping at his brow, Kanan scowls at the darkness behind his lids.

 

The Force tingles at the edges of his mind, telling him he's in a clearing. There is nobody here but him and the Force. It is with him now, very much so, but it doesn't feel the same without the kid lingering at the back of his mind.

 

From Kanan's left, the wind rustles at the branches in a tree, sending a bird flying. It squawks as it rushes overhead. The kid landed less than a click west. It's not a hard trek, not with the Force at his side, but the ground changes abruptly. From dirt, to mud, to stray patches of grass clinging to life.

 

Then, what was filth turns brittle and sharp, crunching under his boots, jarring into Kanan's overtime senses. The debris gets larger and larger as he treks. The Force weaves him between pieces of detritus until his senses come to rest on an especially large piece jutting out of the ground.

 

 _Still in one piece_ , he translates. But he is drawn to it for reasons more than that; there is a sense of familiarity tugging at his mind, compelling him to set his fingers on the twisted piece of metal sitting in his path.

 

Unlike the planet, the debris is cool, almost a welcome touch against his sweaty hands. Yet, it's unnerving how his fingers trace the marks carved into the metal. A smooth cut drags along the surface of the debris like a scar. The slice of a lightsaber.

 

His fingers wander up the debris to find a head, shaped crudely like a rectangle, like somebody's grabbed anything and everything to scrap together something that does nothing but _kill_.

 

A battle droid.

 

He jerks his hand away, just as his fingers brush the hollow sockets of its dead eyes. Dathomir was never the site of any major battles during the Clone Wars, though it was always shrouded in a cloak of mystery. Anything could have transpired here: a Jedi's last stand, their greatest triumph, their last breath.

 

Ezra has come here for a reason. The holocron, the dark side, never acts without purpose. It's haunting that the crude box thinks, let alone has exerted control over somebody he loves far too dearly.

 

“Hera.” Kanan remembers the comm as he tests the aging metal of the battle droid again, a welcome cool touch against his hand, if anything. “Phoenix Leader, do you read?”

 

Silence on the channel. They musn't have exited hyperspace yet.

 

“She isn't coming.” Maul. That's Maul's voice, he knows it. His voice is eternal, everywhere; it chills him right to the bone.

 

In answer, Kanan spins on his heel, drawing his lightsaber, but does not ignite it. “Show yourself, Maul.” His voice is steady, his heart is not.

 

The sith tuts. “Now, now. What kind of hospitality is that? I thought your Rebellion dignitaries would have taught you far better.” It's still impossible to decipher where the old master is standing; the dark side seeps from all corners of the battlefield Kanan's wandered onto. “I _was_ going to offer to take you to your padawan.”

 

Kanan swallows thickly, the realization folding over him like a blanket. “ _You_ lured him here,” he says, accusing.

 

“... Yes. And no. He made the decision, after all. I simply... validated his feelings, as did the holocron you stole from me. It is what it is, after all, a sith artefact. It feeds off doubts. Young Ezra has plenty of them.”

 

“He's a _kid_ ,” Kanan spits back. “He needs guidance, not you twisting him into something he's not.”

 

A chuckle, followed by foosteps from behind him. Kanan turns again, blindly fast, igniting his weapon. He slips his feet apart, ready to defend.

 

“Like I said,” Maul answers calmly, his voice clearly cut now, “he made the decision to answer my call. I did not force him here, nor you or the rebels.” The additional realization jars Kanan–Maul knows Hera is coming, and the others. No doubt they're a liability to him. Not Jedi, not useful to his games. The sith continues, as if on cue, “Your rebellion is treading a dangerous path. They do not understand the Force like we do, Jarrus. They will not find their way here to you. Plagueis will not allow it.”

 

The way Maul speaks the name, with an audible capital P, sends a shiver down Kanan's spine. Yet, the Force warns him of no danger–the sith simply stands before him, placid. Slightly expectant.

 

“Plagueis?” Kanan dares to ask.

 

Maul answers, as if it were obvious, “My master.”

 

Still, the Force is silent. Maul means him no harm. “Not the Emperor?” Kanan shifts his grip on his lightsaber, his fingers loose around the hilt.

 

The sith barks a laugh, a proper one this time. “You think I would succumb again to that tyrant? No. I despise him, perhaps as much as your rebels do.” Here, Maul takes a step towards Kanan. The Jedi leans back, angling his blade towards the sith. He goes on regardless, “Who do you think protected you from the Emperor's threats? He sent dozens more Inquisitors after you and your apprentice both. I ended them.”

 

Involuntarily, Kanan's eyebrows climb his forehead. “You... protected him? Us?”

 

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Is it not?”

 

Slowly, Kanan lowers his lightsaber, his thoughts churning. The Force exhales tension from the harrowed battlefield. Maul smiles, Kanan feels it. “And Plagueis?” he asks next. “Where does he fall in all of this?”

 

“Differently,” Maul answers, simply. “He and I may have different motives, but they are a means to an end, one we both share: the Emperor out of that chair.” There's a pause, where the Force inhales again, whispering something across the ground. It stirs at the dirt on the ground, and tugs at Kanan's hair. “Yet,” Maul goes on, “I think we have outstayed our welcome here. The Night Sisters may have passed on, but their ghosts do not.”

 

“You'll take me to Ezra,” Kanan affirms, pointedly.

 

“Of course,” Maul obliges. “If you'd follow me. Mind your step. It was a good few years ago now, but General Grevious made a right old mess when he faced the Sisters here. Rather careless with his droids, as you can see.”

 

Maul turns to leave, Kanan follows him, deaf to the pang of warning the Force sends to him. It is drowned out by the dark side, woven by the ghosts of the Night Sisters, eternally loyal to their brethren.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference: it's important to remember Plagueis supposedly has the power to resurrect the dead, and that Maul's a fantastic liar. Who's playing who here, again?
> 
> Also important to note the final chapter will rush ahead VERY quickly! Wish me luck :*O


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! remember me!!!! i was clearing out my WIPs folder and came across this sitting wayyyy back when. turns out, it needed a little polishing and then i could throw it out there to finish this fic. PLEASE KEEP IN MIND WHEN READING, this was written before the following season aired and the last jedi was released.
> 
> please enjoy, especially if you're in for the re-read! <3

Kanan comes to with a headache raging at his temple, something unfamiliar, as well the stale surroundings which hug his senses. It’s old and musty, slightly damp and just plain  _ wrong _ .

 

His memory fails him now, with no memory of how exactly he’d ended up here, or the source of his headache. He’d moved to follow Maul… and then...

 

“Dume.”

 

He stiffens at the name, at the words, even more so because it’s a voice he recognises - Ezra’s, toying with his past as if it were dangling from a delicate string. Reaching out with the Force proves painful, to try and find his wayward apprentice, as it pushes back on him and his head.

 

“It’s okay, Kanan. I’m here.” A hand settles on his shoulder, a touch which confirms  _ yes _ , it’s Ezra, radiating the Force from his palm. But it’s also  _ not _ Ezra; there’s no reassuring presence in his mind where the kid usually had himself nestled, no hum of the light, no nothing. “You’re on Dathomir. You remember?”

 

The absurdity of it all hits Kanan with the question: his and Ezra’s last conversation, that damn holocron, now yes,  _ Dathomir.  _ Where Maul showed up. He hisses, “Don’t play coy with me, Ezra.” He struggles to sit up, and the kid’s helping him, a hand on his back. “Of course I remember. Now you better start by telling me what the  _ hell _ is going on.”

 

“Dume,” is Ezra’s answers, the same as before. “Or, well, doom. However you want to pronounce it.”

 

Trying to reach out again proves useless: it’s just him and Ezra he can discern, wherever they are on Dathomir. No Maul, no famed Plagueis, and no Hera and the Rebellion either.

 

“Whatever game they’ve got you playing, Ezra,  _ please _ . Cut it out.” He swallows, because that’s the  _ wrong _ settling over all his senses: his concern, his fear, his panic. This is happening. The dark side is here with Ezra. “You’re scaring me.”

 

Ezra scoffs. “Wasn’t your first question though, was it?” You know: ‘are you okay’.” Before Kanan can ever splutter to answer that, he goes on, “And I’m fine. I made my choice.”

 

Kanan does splutter. “What  _ choice _ , Ezra? You walked away before we could even begin setting things right.”

 

“We had weeks to set things right. And you spent all of them pretending everything was alright then blaming me when it wasn’t.”

 

The disbelief settles into Kanan’s chest hard. The kid’s anger is there - blue and cold, like the touch of the dark side on Kanan’s shoulder where they sit joined. Otherwise, there’s nothing. So it means Ezra is now  _ everything _ to his overtime senses, and to the Force enveloped around him. It’s crushing, even more so because of how calm Ezra sounds, despite his inner turmoil.

 

It means the words feel heavy, hopeless, but he still tries, “No, that’s just - that’s the holocron talking. The dark side. Maul.  _ They _ got into your head, none of us feel like that. And I don’t, either.”

 

A beat of silence, where Kanan allows himself to hope. He wants nothing more than to get through to him, to get him home where he belongs.

 

“Does Dume feel like that?”

 

“Dume is gone, Ezra. You know that. I’ve been Kanan Jarrus - your master, your friend - the whole time you’ve known me.”

 

“Huh,” Ezra murmurs. “I just remember what you told me about  _ your _ master. Dume’s master. You told me you got her killed.”

 

The imagery is vivid at Ezra’s words: the smell of the mud, the heat of blaster bolts, the snap-hiss of Depa’s blade as she ignites it to defend herself from the Clones - family turned enemy. His fear is tangible, and he chokes on it, watching the scene unfold before him.

 

_ I’ll be right behind you _ .

 

He pulls away from Ezra’s hand where it burns him, a gasp pulled from his lips. He knows the tendrils of the dark side which leave him without the contact; they are the same tendrils which had followed Ezra all those weeks.

 

This is happening. He asks the dark, “What do you want from me, Ezra?”

 

There’s a non-committal sound from the blackness, and the shifting of boots against the ground. Kanan doesn’t dare reach out - he can feel the dark side pushing hard on his mind as Ezra considers the question.

 

“How did it feel?” Another beat of silence, where Kanan rakes in an uneven breath. “Killing her?”

 

What a question. It’s worse it’s from a person he’d  _ never _ consider hearing it from, no matter how close they were. The words are cold as they leave his tongue, “You know you don’t mean that, Ezra.”

 

“Oh no, I do. They asked me to kill you.”

 

“...  _ They _ ?”

 

“You said it before: the holocron, the dark side, Darth Maul. Whoever else.” More sounds of movement in the darkness, where Kanan braces himself for Ezra’s hand again, except it never comes. His words do, “I was just considering if I really wanted to do it. They offered me a lot, you know, to come here.” 

 

And Kanan just lets him talk, lets it wash over him, because either pure disbelief or the crushing presence of the dark side have consumed his own words completely. Ezra goes on, with that same tone of voice he’d use in briefings, where he was finally taking up the mantle of leadership he deserved. Where he debated strategy with Hera and Sabine. Where he talked with other Rebels and commanded their respect and loyalty. Where he would sit with Kanan for hours in meditation, words littered with the Force and the light between them.

 

“They offered me a way out from this life. I never asked for this, to be your padawan or to be fighting in a war. I told you that already, but they offered  _ more _ : if I join them, I can use the holocron to end this war once and for all. The same holocron you didn’t want me going anywhere near.” Ezra now  _ does _ touch him, but Kanan has lost the will to react to the cold touch which makes his shoulder ache. “Did you hear that, Kanan?” Ezra gives him a shake, those calm words taking on a tone of urgency, “I can finish  _ all _ of it, right now, if I just agree to go with them and leave the rest of this behind. That’s why I came.  _ We _ could have done it with the holocron, too, but you didn’t want to see the things I could do with it and all the people I could save.  _ They _ know, too, that you’ll never agree to me doing this. That’s why they asked me to kill you, so you can’t stop us. But I told them I needed to talk to you first.” Another shake, and more desperate words, “I don’t want to do it, Kanan, so  _ please _ . Tell me you understand. Tell me you’ll help us.”

 

Kanan can do nothing but shake his head. “I…”

 

“We can start again. No more Dume, no more Jarrus, and no more Bridger.” Ezra takes his other shoulder now, and it’s that contact which blows Kanan out of the water - he can  _ see  _ him. Tanned skin, blue hair, yellow eyes. The two of them huddled in the dark, some ancient cavern, and the evil which stirs beneath the ground. “I can forgive you, I know I can. I know what happened was hard for you, Kanan, and I know you were only scared about losing me. Now you can’t ever again. Not if we do this.”

 

The dark side hisses through his body like a cold chill, racking him with a shiver. It’s smothering, choking him from the inside out, meaning he shakes his head and tears his attention to the ground. He can’t see him like this, he can’t hear these words, coming from his own apprentice’s mouth.

 

“You…. you can’t believe that, Ezra. You can’t.”

 

It turns angry; Ezra grips him hard and out Kanan’s sight extends as more of the Force is thrown against his barriers. It’s there he notices their audience in the mouth of the cave, Maul his hand on his lightsaber, and another, who is smiling. Plagueis. They are watching. Waiting.

 

Kanan wants to be sick.

 

“I  _ told _ you, Kanan. I made my choice. Now it’s time for you to make yours, or I  _ will _ have to kill you. I don’t have any other choice.”

 

“Ezra, you  _ always _ have a choice. That’s one of the most important things I taught you. You have a choice to do what’s easy, and what’s right. This - now. Ending the war with these people, with the holocron. It’s not right.” Their audience seems surprised at his awareness; Maul thumbs the ignition on his sabre and Plagueis’s grin spreads impossibly wide. “Coming home with me, to your family, that’s right. We can sort this out, I promise you, I will stop at nothing  _ until _ it’s sorted out.”

 

Now Ezra’s shaking his head, and those are tears in his eyes, anguished and torn. Kanan wants more than nothing to reach out and hug him, to chase away all that turmoil. “I… I can’t. Kanan.” He can hear the tears in his voice, and oh, it breaks his heart. “I  _ can’t _ .”

 

“You  _ can _ .” Kanan’s own hand covers one of Ezra’s, holding on tight. “Take my hand. Stand up. We’ll walk out of here together.”

 

Ezra swallows thickly. They are so immersed in the Force now, he can see his lips quivering as the emotions run their course through him.

 

“You’ll be right behind me, right?”

 

Depa says it like a promise: _I’ll_ _ be right behind you _ .

 

Kanan chases away the images pressing against his mind, encouraged by the dark side swirling around them. And lets himself hope, because Ezra’s taken his hand, and his scrubbing at his eyes. “Yes, Ezra. Always.”

 

“Then…” He takes a shaky breath, meeting Kanan’s eyes, the blindfold. Kanan gives him a wet smile, which is when Ezra ignites his lightsaber, stabbing him clean through the chest.

 

The shock envelopes Kanan quickly, a cold feeling unlike the dark side around them, but the agony of betrayal and failure. Ezra’s taken him around the shoulders and pulled him to his own chest, sobs wracking his tiny frame, that litany filtering through Kanan’s racing emotions: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Kanan I’m so sorry-”

 

“No.” Ezra’s breath hitches at Kanan’s answer, and he squeezes him tighter, burying his face into the crook of his neck. “ _I’m_ sorry. Ezra.” The words hiss out of him, through the hole in his chest, through the tear which slips out of his unseeing eyes, “I failed you.”

 

Now Ezra takes his face, palms resting on either cheek, and draws their foreheads together so they share Kanan’s last breaths. “ _ No _ , you didn’t. You didn’t. Kanan, you didn’t. I’m sorry, you didn’t fail me.  _ I _ did this.”

 

“It’s time to go, little one.” That cloaked figure is here, Plagueis, his scarred features regarding their embrace with little other than a glance. He places a hand on Ezra’s shaking shoulder. “Your time comes now, the real work is beginning.”

 

Kanan can’t summon any hatred, only resignation as Ezra accepts the hand of his shoulder and lets Kanan go. He sets him down gently, on his side, looking across the ancient grounds of the Nightsisters, and then turns away. Kanan's heart breaks in two.  He can do nothing but watch now, wait, as Plagueis had done for the life to drain from him. He watches intently, fighting the pain which stirs at his chest, and the emotion which stirs everywhere else. He needs to  _ know _ , who exactly he lost Ezra to, how exactly he failed.

 

The Force grants him such a courtesy.

 

Ezra kneels before Plagueis, who pulls back his hood. His face is disfigured but Ezra does not flinch, only wipes at his eyes to rid of the remaining tears.

 

“I am proud of you, Ezra. I can tell we will work well together.” He sets his hand on Ezra’s shoulder again, which is when Kanan’s newfound vision begins to waver. He wills the Force to stay, holding it in the pit of stomach. “You know who I am, no?”

 

“No.” Ezra spares a look to the mouth of the cave, where Maul still stands, a hand ever-present on his lightsaber. “But I know you’re Maul’s master. I know you owe him, and now you owe me.”

 

Plagueis laughs. “That I do,” he says.

 

“Until then,” Ezra answers, and Kanan can sense the last of the light fueling his anger now, as Ezra spares him a glance, “you’re no different than the Empire. To me.”

 

Again, the Sith laughs, a full-body laugh this time. “You are a smart boy, Ezra. I can see what my apprentice saw you in you, and I can see why we will end this war together so swiftly.” He leans closer, ducking his chin, so that he and Ezra are face-to-face, nearly forehead-to-forehead. “Maybe I am no different than the Empire to you, but I assure you, that will change. I am simply what I am: The Sith No One Knew Existed. A foil to the very Empire that I despise. Or, we shall simplify it: you may call me S.N.O.K.E.” He smiles now, wide and evil. “Snoke.”

 

Ezra settles to one knee now, head bowed, and Plagueis - Snoke - straightens. “Then, Lord Snoke, I swear myself to your service to take down the Empire and restore the galaxy to its rightful state.”

 

“Good.” Snoke turns to leave now, drawing his hood again, and Ezra follows him. Kanan’s vision blurs. “Good. Come, then. We have word to do. You and Maul - you are my knights, now, my warriors in this fight.”

 

“We can be your Knights of Wren,” says Ezra, his voice chased away by the dark spots approaching the edges of Kanan’s eyes. “Fighting for what’s right.”

 

The cavern is empty now, save the sound of their retreating footsteps. The Force follows them out.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here it is, two years late! love to all of you <3

“Savage,” breathes Maul, at the stirring form at his side. “Savage, brother. It’s me. Are you alright?”

 

“Brother?” he croaks. The relief which washes over him is unparalleled, even to Plagueis first telling him of his ability to perform such a miracle in the first place.

 

“I’m here.”

 

“Did…. did we win?”

 

Plagueis - Snoke - looks on from the doorway. At Maul’s glance, he gives a nod, disappearing into the works of the Nightsisters’ temple.

 

“Yes, brother. We did.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean he’s _gone_?”

 

Hera’s found his ship, it’s parked in a clearing, and Ezra’s is a click away with Zeb and Sabine. She hadn’t been more than two steps into covering the ground between them both when Chopper had appeared from between the trees telling her just that.

 

The explanation isn’t reassuring in the slightest, but it’s also not wrong. The temple Chopper leads her to is empty. The forests are empty, in scan after scan.

 

Kanan is gone.

 

* * *

 

Kanan comes to with light filtering through the windows, blinding as he cracks open his eyes. This is the Jedi Temple infirmary, his mind provides him, second to the hand which squeezes his own.

 

“... Master?”

 

In fact, it's a beautiful mirror of the scene in the Temple's healing wing, all those years ago, when he stumbled upon the bacta tank.

 

“Hello, Caleb.”

 

She looks no different, aside from the motherly smile gracing her features. She chases away the disbelief and confusion with a hand on his cheek, cradling his face, a thumb close to his eye - his working eyes.

 

“Look at you,” she murmurs. “You grew up.”

 


End file.
